


waiting for the tides to meet

by nauticalleeds (metamorphosis)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, First Meetings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Louis in Lace, M/M, Miscommunication, OT5, Pining, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Summer, Summer Vacation, a Lot of OT5, ace niall, ace representation in the house, also harry taking pictures of louis because louis is damn beautiful and we all know it, also they meet in college, anyway you will SEE, because then it spans to a few years later, fyi everyone defines slow burn differently lol this might not be slow burn for u, harry and louis are colleagues, i really went there y'all, its kind of a summer vacation, just read the damn fic, side Ziam, so there's a little bit of college in there although i wouldn't call it a college au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-06-02 16:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 59,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19445566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metamorphosis/pseuds/nauticalleeds
Summary: Louis lets out a deep breath, thinking about Harry’s soulmate. Thinking about how Harry’s soulmate is probably as beautiful as Harry, some person that Louis cannot compare to, and how the universe has chosen them to be Harry’s. Fuck the universe. “Fuck you,” he calls out to the universe. He’s aware of how crazy he sounds.Maybe he is crazy, with how he’s falling for Harry. And fuck that, too.Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.Featuring a lovely cup of OT5, a road trip down the coast, and a scene where Harry eats a whole head of lettuce. Don't ask why.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reminiscingintherain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reminiscingintherain/gifts).



> when i was called to be a pinch hitter for this work, i was stoked. and then i realized i only had two months to write it. thus began writing a 60k monster in under 60 days, most of which consisted of wanting to pull my hair out. but here it is! i'm so excited for you to dive into this universe i've created. 
> 
> many years ago, i remember hiding my twitter and my blog from my best friends because i knew they thought i was wack for being a larrie. here we are, seven years later, where they have become full-fledged larries, avid fic readers, and both begged to edit this monster of a fic. in all my life, i never thought we'd get here, but i'm glad we are. thank you to madison and jasmine, whose friendships i have treasured dearly over the past 16-18 years. i'm glad that our lasting friendship was initially based upon our love for books because we are nerds. this work would really be nothing without you. 
> 
> a big thank you to [sam](http://bottomlinsons.tumblr.com) for listening to me whine, being my extra set of eyes and for always being there for extra input, at any hour of the day. she is the best.
> 
> last but not least, thank you for ao3 user reminiscingintherain for this prompt. i fell in love with it as soon as i saw it. thank you for giving me the opportunity to embark on the most beautiful journey with this story. 
> 
> title from ["same sea" (acoustic)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3cVAzDHxY6o) by lights, because it reminds me of this entire story. give it a listen, and you will see. i love her words and her acoustic melodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (disclaimer: i'm sorry for any inaccuracies for anything in this story. even after researching, i am not entirely sure what art directors do. although i'm sure louis would still kill it if he were one irl. additional apologies for any inaccuracies of british lingo.)
> 
> content warning for recreational drug use in this chapter.

_inside a street car, or on a mountain trail,_  
_you breathe in when i exhale._  
_no matter where we are, or which way the wind blows,_  
_or how heavy the snow,_  
_nothing can change where we will go._

lights, "siberia"

———————

You never know when it will happen, or who it will happen with. Most people don’t even know it’s happened until it has. But what you do know, at least, is that experiencing it once in your lifetime will be enough.

It always comes without warning — you’re saying your first “hello” to someone you’ve never met before, and suddenly, their eye colour is changing. And the next thing you know, your eye colour is changing, too.

In most transformations, you’re probably staring at each other with the same expression of shock. Unless you’re not paying attention at all, that is, in which case you’d better hope the other person has caught on. They are your soulmate, after all; at least _one_ of you should be paying attention. It’s a crucial thing to witness. 

The recognition is often followed by a shout or gasp, one of excitement and relief of having finally found _the one_. That gasp says _yes,_ you’ve finally met your soulmate; that the heterochromatic eye colour you’ve been carrying around since birth has been recognized. It means you’ve finally matched with another person on this earth, someone designated to be yours since birth. Someone who had been carrying your eye colour in one eye their whole life, while you’ve been carrying theirs. Until now, that is. Because now, every time you look into a mirror, you’ll finally find your true eye colour instead of two. And every time you look at your soulmate, you’ll see their true eye colour, right where it should be. No longer mismatched with yours, but whole. 

If people are around during a transformation, there can be quite a commotion. Strangers may flock to you, congratulating you as if they’ve known you your whole life. For those who are already matched, it’s a _welcome to the club!_ kind of congratulations. From those who haven’t, those who still long for their soulmate, reactions might come with a hint of jealousy and yearning. Or, worse-case scenario, you might face a reaction of spite, from those who have found their soulmate, but let them get away.

Because even if you meet your soulmate, there’s always a chance that you’ll miss them. Sometimes, you might never even see them again. 

———————

Louis doesn’t want to go outside. He’s perfectly happy where he is, watching reruns of Gossip Girl and munching on Oreos like a piece of trash. He’s okay with being a piece of trash, as long as nobody finds out he watches Gossip Girl. He’s got a reputation to keep, and all that. 

Zayn, however, is not helping Louis with his mission to become A Piece of Trash. Zayn is hovering over his bed with a scrunched up face that Louis now recognizes as sheer determination.

“We’re going,” Zayn is saying. Or at least that’s what Louis thinks he’s saying. That’s what he is _sure_ he’s saying, even though he’s got a pillow covering his ears. Because that’s what Zayn has been saying for the past five minutes, so there’s a pretty good probability. 

“I don’t want to go,” Louis yells back at him, words muffled into his bedsheets. “Let me fester in my room and watch rubbish TV.” 

With easy force, the pillow is snatched away from his hands, bedsheets too, until Louis is left defenseless and vulnerable. Louis hates that Zayn, even with his wiry muscles, is able to do that so easily. Maybe this is an indicator that Louis should start going to the gym. 

He tries to throw a leg out in self-defense, because this is _unfair._ He’s trying to fight for his own autonomy, okay.

“As your best friend,” Zayn says, and no, Zayn is not his best friend, because a best friend would not make someone go to a dumb party that they don’t want to go to, “I am taking you out. We’ve got no school, and you are coming with me. For a night of fun.” 

Louis lifts his head to glower at him, hoping his gaze conveys the daggers shooting out of his eyes. “This is not a night of fun, and you know it. A frat party is the _opposite_ of fun.” 

Zayn shrugs, because even that’s undeniable. “Okay, fine. Yes, a frat party may not be the most fun thing. But we are going.” 

Annoyed at Zayn’s ill logic, Louis lets out an exasperated sigh. “Tell me why you’re so hellbent on us going to this fucking frat party?” he asks. Zayn, like him, doesn’t even like frat parties. And that’s the reason they fit so well together, Louis and Zayn — ever since the first week of college, when all the British freshmen congregated together for solidarity, and out of every single Brit, Louis had decided he liked Zayn the best. Zayn, who hadn’t seemed interested in the unnecessary freshmen drama, but liked to keep to himself and his cool art. 

It’s a great thing that Zayn, in return, had mutually felt the same about Louis. As a result, a beautiful friendship was formed, with Louis moving in with him at the end of freshman year. Since then, most afternoons, evenings and nights are spent in their campus apartment smoking weed and watching movies. Frat parties are usually avoided. Until now, apparently.

Zayn huffs, clearly considering whether he should deliver an integral piece of information. Which, Louis doesn’t know why he’s hesitating, because Zayn’s going to tell him anyway.

“Liam is going to be there,” Zayn grumbles, and is that a bit of embarrassment that Louis detects in his voice? Louis is pretty sure Zayn’s face is flushing. 

“Liam,” Louis says slowly, his eyebrows raising as he ponders the name. Zayn’s eyes widen as he realizes what Louis is considering. 

Zayn points a threatening finger at him. “You are _not_ embarrassing me in front of Liam tonight.” 

Delighted at having an advantage, Louis puts both his hands up. “I haven’t even agreed to tonight yet. But you, on the other hand, _are_ the one who has chosen me for your company, so this is at _your_ risk.” He sits up, cracking his neck. He feels stiff. He probably shouldn’t have spent the whole night watching cat videos with his head propped up on his pillow.

Zayn rubs his hands over his face. “Oh my God. I’m regretting everything.”

Another crack, Louis’ back this time, as he rises from the bed. Maybe he should start doing yoga. “Relax,” Louis says, and Zayn whips his head to glare at him. “I’m not going to do anything too bad. You can’t drag me to a frat party I don’t want to go to and _not_ expect me to have some fun.”

“Fun,” Zayn says, throwing his hands in the air, “does not mean embarrassing me in front of the boy that I like and have been trying to hang out with for ages.” 

This is true. Louis has watched Zayn pine over this Liam guy for the entire semester. Ever since Zayn came home from the first day of class, eyes blown — “ _oh my God, Louis, I met the most attractive man on this fucking planet in my class and he sits next to me and_ _he smiled at me so we’re gonna get married”_ — Zayn has not ceased talking about him. Frankly, though Louis is happy that his best mate’s got a crush, it’s a bit annoying. Not because Zayn is annoying. But because Louis is still here, healing the wounds from his last relationship, and love can go suck a dick and die, okay. 

Admittedly, it’s not like Louis had expected his relationship with Will to last forever. There was always a chance that it wouldn’t, a risk that any unmatched couple has to take upon entering any relationship. But it was a good relationship, a happy one, until Will had entered his room one day with a nervous expression. At that time, Louis hadn’t understood why Will had seemed so antsy, until he looked at Will’s eyes. How the brown and blue irises he was so used to seeing were now both an identical earthy brown. 

That was how it was, sometimes. Will had found his soulmate, someone whose eyes were now the sky blue Will used to have, someone who was out there holding Louis’ now ex-boyfriend’s hand with a smile on his face. And that was great, for Will. But not for Louis, who was now alone, not knowing where the hell his soulmate is in the world of seven billion people. So, in this case, fuck Will for winning and leaving Louis in the dust. 

Zayn, on the other hand, even the hopeless romantic that he is, doesn’t seem that concerned about soulmates. _“_ I gave up long ago, Louis,” he had once said, like a seventy-year old man with a lifetime of wisdom, on an afternoon where they had gotten way too high and spent the day lounging on the floor. “Some people find them, some people don’t. Not everyone even falls in love with their soulmate. I’d rather love who I want to love, without having to wait around for something that might never happen.” 

It’s a good approach, Louis has to admit. One that is anxiety-free and probably freeing, too. It’s why Zayn’s been so jubilant lately, excited when Liam’s invited him to this lame party, instead of sulking in a room like Louis has been for the past few months since his breakup. 

Louis allows Zayn to badger him into wearing some clean clothes. At least he’s getting out of the house for once. 

———————

The frat house is loud when they arrive, packed with people who are on their way to getting wasted. Holidays, and all that. Or _vacation,_ as Americans would say. He’s getting used to American slang. His sisters would be disappointed at what he’s become — a Brit, thousands of miles away from home, wasting thousands of dollars to go to a lame frat party in America. 

There’s a beer pong table that Louis spots, one that surprises him with a feeling of intrigue as they pass by. It’s been a while, but Louis remembers that he used to own at this in his freshman year. He considers stopping by later to play a game. Maybe it’s his hermit finally getting out of his shell. 

Not that Zayn would ever admit it, but Louis can tell that he’s nervous. Zayn had spent a whole hour fixing his hair, and then another hour deciding on which leather jacket to wear to the party. “We’re gonna be inside, Zayn. You’re going to sweat to death,” Louis had told him, which had only earned him a death glare in response. 

Finally, Zayn had settled on a leather jacket with pockets, which did not differ that much from his other leather jacket with pockets. And now here he is, breezing past hordes of people looking at them, all silently admiring Zayn’s beauty. Zayn, on the other hand, doesn’t look back, acts like he doesn’t know they’re all looking at him. It’s an effortless charade that Louis now knows the inner workings of, especially after three years of friendship.

“I don’t know where Liam is,” Zayn hisses through his teeth. They hear a group of freshman girls behind them, giggles directed towards their general direction. Or towards Zayn, rather. 

Louis whips around to look at them, and they immediately stop, eyes wide and intimidated. Good. Louis turns back to Zayn. “Did you text him?”

“No,” Zayn says.

Louis rolls his eyes, because Zayn is daft, and a dumbass. Those two words probably mean the same thing, right? “Text him, you dummy. There’s no way he’s gonna find you if you don’t text him.”

Huffing dramatically, Zayn takes out his phone and taps a few things. It’s only a minute later when they’re interrupted by a tall figure in a white tank top, smiling way too brightly for someone who is at a trashy frat party.

“Zayn!” the person says, and Louis notices that Zayn has gone all stiff, frozen expression on his face. Louis realizes, with a pinch of delight, that this white tank top man must be Liam. 

Liam pulls Zayn in for a hug — who, unfortunately, seems to have forgotten what to do with his arms. _Hug him back,_ Louis mouths, and Zayn jerkily brings his arms up to Liam’s back. It’s a good thing that Zayn brought Louis to this party. Like a fish on land, Zayn would never function on his own. 

“Didn’t think you would come,” Liam says when they pull apart. Louis gives him a quick once-over, noticing his ripped arms and delightful presence. Not his type, but he gets the appeal for Zayn. 

Zayn, who seems to have regained his composure, and has settled back into his cool boy demeanor, acting like he doesn’t give a shit with a hand in his pocket. Zayn, who gives a shrug, a movement that Louis knows is practiced, because Zayn had once confessed to doing so on a night of too much booze and Britney Spears. 

“Yeah, well, nothing else to do today, so I thought I’d stop by,” Zayn says. Louis fights a laugh, the whole _yeah I’ve got nothing to do so this was something I just thought to do_. He loves how ridiculous Zayn is. 

Liam doesn’t seem to notice, his grin never dimming. “Cool! Do you guys want a drink?” And with that, Zayn and Louis are ushered into the kitchen. 

As they enter, they’re met with slaps and high fives from guys that Louis hardly knows. The kitchen, Louis notes, is lit up with changing lights, red to orange to yellow to green to blue. It’s cool, Louis thinks. It makes him feel like they’re in a spaceship. Then they’re being handed beers, and then shots, and the next thing Louis knows, he’s past the tipsy stage and just teetering on the edge of drunk. 

But he’s having fun. Yes, he is. Should he admit that to Zayn? He looks at Zayn, a blur of hair and leather. Zayn’s got his eyes fixed on someone else with a dopey smile, he probably won’t pay attention to him. Another drink sounds good, though. Yes. He will get another drink. Back to the counter he goes.

By his fourth drink, Louis finds himself up on a chair, belting out Gloria Gaynor even though Calvin Harris is playing. It’s a cacophony of sorts. He feels a tug on his sleeve and realizes it’s Zayn, who, Louis notes, he hasn’t seen for the past half hour.

“Louis,” Zayn slurs. “I need you to come play beer pong with us.”

Those are words that Louis never thought he would hear coming out of Zayn’s mouth. Louis laughs. “What?”

“We’re playing beer pong!” Zayn shouts, even though Louis is within earshot. “I told Liam I would win and I can’t let him crush me.” 

“I thought you wanted him to crush you, if you know what I mean.” Louis’ drunk brain is hilarious. 

Zayn giggles. “Fuck off.” So even Zayn’s drunk self is too inebriated to give a proper comeback. Then Louis feels himself being dragged away from the kitchen and into the commons area.

It’s a good thing that all of Louis’ practice in his first year of uni has prepared him well. They beat Liam and his friend at the first game, bolstered by the cheers and whoops of onlookers in the room. Then they play another game, and win again; then another, winning every one. 

At the end of the fifth game Louis finds himself on the couch, passing a joint with Zayn and some guy named Nick. All in all, Louis doesn’t know how he keeps finding himself in new places. 

As the night drags on, the number of people dissipates, taking the noise with them. Louis stays on the couch. It’s a safe spot that he’s quite satisfied with. After a while, Liam joins them, plopping down next to Zayn. Conversation flows easily, going from video games to Marvel movies to which campus restaurant is the best. Apparently Zayn’s too drunk now to be nervous, because he’s pressing up to Liam’s side, and _wait,_ is that a bashful smile on Liam’s face? 

At around 2 AM a frat boy stands up on a table, his hands cupped around his mouth. “We’re playing a game of Sardines!” he yells, despite the fact that everyone is quite capable of hearing him. 

“What’s Sardines?” shouts a girl from the kitchen, voicing Louis’ thoughts. 

Sardines, as it turns out, is a reverse version of hide and seek. Or something. Even after the instructions are explained, Louis doesn’t really remember them. Something about one person hiding and everybody trying to find said person. It might be because the weed is hitting him pretty hard. Either way, Louis doesn’t know how a bunch of university kids thought this was a good idea. 

Nevertheless, Louis finds himself in a gaggle of people frantically moving about the house, trying to find where somebody has hidden. He’s just moving, opening door after door, because that’s what he’s supposed to do, he thinks. He accidentally opens a door where two people are going at it and shuts it just as quickly. God. 

Hunting down a person in a frat house is tiring. Louis needs a place to sit down.

The bathroom looks like a safe refuge, so Louis knocks and waits. When there’s no response, he sneaks his way inside, purposeful. He can’t see too much. The only source of light is the dim moonlight streaming in from the window, illuminating a bathtub. 

It seems like a good resting place. He climbs in and lies down. 

He’s only alone for a few minutes before another figure bursts inside. Louis can’t see much, only that the stranger’s got messy dark hair and is quite tall. With these two pieces of information, Louis’ hazy brain registers, _cute._

“Oops,” the stranger says, a little breathless. “I didn’t know there was someone in here.” His voice is slow, syrupy, just like the last drink that Louis had. Louis thinks he might be British. Or, at the very least, an American trying to imitate a British accent. It’s amazing how many Americans Louis has encountered mimicking his accent upon first meeting him. 

Louis laughs, because he imagines that he must look a little ridiculous, sprawled out openly in a bathtub. “Hi there. Welcome to my lair.”

The stranger hovers in the doorway as if he’s not sure what to make of this situation. “Are you ‘it’?” he asks, like they’re five and playing tag. Which is, actually, a similar situation to this. Louis wonders how he found himself in uni, surrounded by people his age who still enjoy playground games. 

Louis shakes his head. “Nope.”

The stranger tilts his head, confused. “So you’re just sitting in the bathtub then?” 

“Yes,” says Louis, a little indignant and a little drunk. Maybe very drunk. “There is nothing wrong with sitting in a bathtub.”

This elicits a laugh from the stranger, a cheery sound that fills the room. Louis thinks that he likes it. “Can I join you?” he asks.

Louis waves at the edge of the bathtub. “Feel free. There’s more than enough room for two of us.” He peers at the remaining space near his feet. There’s probably two inches of free room. Oops. He adjusts himself, twisting his body sideways as his new acquaintance joins him, and sighs inwardly at the leg room he’s just sacrificed. 

They probably look a bit stupid now, two guys sitting in a bathtub, facing the door in huddled positions. They’d be quite a sight if anyone else decided to step inside the bathroom. 

“So do you do this often? Climb into bathtubs?” the guys says, angling his body to face Louis. 

Louis turns his head to reply, and finds himself zeroed in on the stranger’s gaze. There’s a moment, where he’s looking at him and the stranger is looking back, that lasts long enough for Louis to realise that he really shouldn’t be staring like this. Doesn’t even know why he’s staring so long, especially when he can’t see much in the dark. Maybe it’s the alcohol. That would explain the flush of warmth starting to spread to his toes. 

Louis forcibly tears his gaze away from the guy. He hopes the stranger doesn’t notice how flustered he‘s become, how long he’s stared at him for. That’s weird.

Strangely, he’s still looking at Louis. Maybe the stranger is the weird one.

“Um, no,” Louis replies, and he sees the stranger jolt his head, a delayed reaction. 

“Oh,” the stranger says hastily, as if he’s just realized that Louis has spoken. “Sorry. What?”

“No, I don’t do this often,” Louis clarifies. “Climbing into people’s bathtubs, that is.” 

“Really? Because I do it all the time,” the guy says, and begins stretching out his legs over the edge. He’s got long legs, this guy. They’re nice. Louis wonders if it’s weird to be checking someone’s legs out in a bathtub. 

Louis props his head on the side, giving the guy a look that he certainly won’t see. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not, mate.”

“I’m dead serious,” he says, even though the tone in his voice indicates he’s anything but. “I spend my life in here.”

“You’ve got a really boring life,” Louis says. Somehow, this elicits out a large laugh from this guy, even though it’s not that funny. In spite of himself, Louis feels himself grinning. 

“I might be boring,” the guy says, voice amused. He tilts his head, and in the dim lighting from the window, Louis can faintly make out the shape of his nose and his cheekbones. “My friends tell me I’m boring anyway, because I like to do yoga and stuff.”

This guy likes to do yoga. For some reason, Louis files this away in his drunk brain. “I don’t know any guy in uni who likes to do yoga,” Louis muses. “I think that’s more weird than boring.”

Louis can’t tell, but he thinks this guy is probably pouting. “Yoga’s not weird,” he says. “It’s very good for your body, and stuff.”

Louis can’t help but chuckle, a little amused by this stranger in the dark who likes yoga. “Any other weird quirks you may have? At this rate, we can see if you’re the weirdest person in this house.”

A moment passes by before the guy says, “I have a big butterfly tattoo.” 

This, Louis can’t help but laugh at. “What?”

The guy is laughing too. “I’m serious,” he insists. “Judge me all you want, but I rather like it.”

“Well,” Louis says, tapping him on his knee, and the guy’s head angles down, attention brought to the point of contact. “Then that’s the most important thing, innit? That you like it.” 

“Yeah,” he says, still staring at where Louis’ finger was, until he brings his head up to look at Louis. “Yeah,” he repeats, softly, before looking down again with a smile. “That’s true.”

Louis thinks he might be endeared with this stranger, someone who he hasn’t even fucking known for more than five minutes. Obviously, this is the indicator that Louis has had too much to drink. He’s letting his guard down. 

Suddenly, a shout from downstairs interrupts their conversation, followed by a chorus of whooping. 

“Huh,” the guy says. “Guess they’re done.”

As if on cue, a new person bursts through the door, a mop of blond hair adorning his head. He squints into the dark, and points a finger towards Louis’ new acquaintance. “There ya are,” he bellows, charging toward the tub. “We’ve got to go! Our flight is in three hours!”

Bathtub Stranger then turns to Louis, extending his hand. “It was nice to meet you,” he says. His voice sounds sincere. 

Louis takes his hand and shakes it. “Likewise,” he says, before the stranger climbs out to leave the room. To his own surprise, Louis means it. 

———————

Somehow, Louis finds himself in his own bed when the morning comes. Given how fucked he was last night, he’s not really sure how it happened. But he’s here in his apartment, instead of some random rubbish bin. Even though his head is pounding, he’s grateful for at least that. 

Padding into Zayn’s room, he realizes that his roommate is, in fact, not there. With a panic, Louis pulls out his phone before he realizes that he’s got unread messages.

Zayn  
[2:40 AM] _where are you m8 haha_

Zayn  
[2:45 AM] _omg me n liam r in a closet in the darkkkkkk crazy :o im nervous louuuuu_

Zayn  
[3:14 AM] _i sucked his dick not comin home tonite aha ;)))) x_

Okay. It seems like Zayn’s in good hands, then. A victory for both of them.

Louis pockets his phone, heads to the bathroom for a quick wee, and crashes back into bed for the next few hours. 

———————

When Louis comes to consciousness again, it’s to a person shaking him awake frantically. This is not the best wake up call.

“Louis, wake the fuck up.”

“No,” Louis mumbles. He’s in the middle of a dream about all-you-can-eat pancakes. He’s having a great time. Nobody is bringing him out of this. 

“Wake the fuck _up,_ Louis. There’s an earthquake.” 

“What?” Louis opens one eye. What he sees is Zayn standing over him, hair a little dishevelled, who looks very unconcerned for there being an earthquake. 

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” he says, as if Louis had just woken up on his own accord and not to some dumb lunatic shaking him out of his pancake dream. Zayn sits on the bed, looking at Louis expectantly. He reminds Louis of an eager five-year old about to give a speech. Louis stares back groggily. 

“Liam and I had sex,” Zayn declares importantly.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Louis groans, pulling out his pillow from underneath his head to throw it at Zayn with the hardest force he can muster. As of this moment, his motor skills are not very good, apparently. It seems as if he’s still somewhat drunk. 

Zayn blocks the shot with one arm, not looking annoyed in the slightest. Huh. It must have been really good sex. 

“I can’t believe you fucking woke me up for this,” Louis grunts. “Why couldn’t you have waited for like, I don’t know, another hour?”

“Because this shit is _important,_ Louis,” Zayn says, leaning forward. “He asked me out on a fucking _date,_ and —” In the middle of his frenzied words, Zayn suddenly stops. 

Louis narrows his eyes, prompting Zayn to continue. “And? Did you already forget what else he told you? After months and months of pining?” 

“Louis,” Zayn says. 

It’s the sudden halt in conversation that makes Louis stop in his tracks, the serious tone in his voice that wasn’t there before. Zayn’s expression is stone-faced. He’s staring right at Louis, eyebrows drawn together. 

“Zayn, what?” He can’t think of anything that may have stopped Zayn from talking about the single most exciting thing in his life. Has Zayn suddenly contracted some terrible disease? Maybe he’s going bankrupt? Can university students even go bankrupt? “Tell me. What’s going on?” He can hear the panic creeping in his own voice. 

Zayn blinks incredulously. “Do you… do you not know?” he says, still gawking at Louis. Something in Louis’ face must give away his confusion, because Zayn’s eyes widen. 

“Louis,” he repeats hastily, bringing a hand up to motion at Louis’ face. “Your eyes.”

And all of a sudden, Louis knows. 

“I,” he gasps. He feels himself rising from the bed, moving jerkily to his mirror. Lifting his head, he faces his reflection. 

For the past twenty-one years of his life, Louis had grown used to his different eyes, one green, one blue. He had never known which colour belonged to him, and which belonged to his soulmate. 

Now, looking into the mirror, he knows. 

“What,” Louis says, stunned. The blue that meets him is piercing, an amplified effect now that there’s two of them. He blinks in disbelief, watching the person in the glass do the same. 

“When did this happen?” Zayn asks, appearing at Louis’ side, revealing a similar expression of shock as they both stare at Louis’ reflection. 

“Uh,” Louis starts, his mouth dry. In the midst of the sirens blaring in his mind, he tries to make his brain work. “Last night. I suppose.” 

“Well, of course it was last night,” Zayn says, mouth pursed in consideration. “Do you remember when you had last looked into a mirror?”

Louis’ memory races back to last night, frantically flipping through dozens of moments like a mental slideshow. Trying to pinpoint each time he passed by a mirror, every time he went to take a piss. 

“The entire house was dim as fuck,” Louis recalls, shaking his head. “I don’t even know how I could fucking tell even when I looked into the mirror.” 

“Fuck,” Zayn says. They turn to face each other, and Zayn looks about as shell-shocked as Louis feels. “We’re screwed.”

———————

Being screwed is not an understatement. Louis spends the next hour watching Zayn speed text everyone he knows from the party — _has anyone u know happened to change eye colour last nite —_ while Louis himself sits on the couch, sunk into a shocked stupor. 

He notices that he doesn’t feel drunk anymore. Nope, he feels quite fucking sober.

 _God._ How could he have not even noticed?

“Liam,” Zayn says urgently, face pressed to his phone. “Have you found anyone yet?” The fact that Zayn has progressed from shy child to bold best friend in twelve hours probably says something about how valuable of a friend he is. 

There’s a garble that Louis hears from the other line, followed by an exasperated sigh from Zayn. “None of your frat brothers have had any success, either?”

As Zayn’s official new love interest, Liam has joined them on this wild soulmate hunt. So far, it seems like this Liam guy is a good egg. After all, it’s not every day that your new lover’s best friend finds and loses his soulmate, all within twelve hours. 

His soulmate. Louis shakes his head to clear the thought. 

Liam says something again. A minute later, Zayn comes over to where Louis is on the couch. It’s where he’s been for the past hour, allowing his brain to thaw in the midst of this whole situation. Because Louis’ found his fucking soulmate, and he doesn’t even know where he is. _Who_ he is. 

“We’ll find him, Lou,” Zayn soothes, wrapping his entire body around Louis like a koala. Louis shuts his eyes and tries to ground himself into the contact. Just breathes. 

“There’s no way that guy won’t come back,” Zayn continues, a reassurance in the midst of Louis’ panicked silence. Zayn’s right. If Louis is out here panicking, there must be someone else panicking as well. It’s two-way. It’ll be fine. 

“You’re right,” Louis whispers finally, after what seems like an eternity. Zayn tightens his arms around him. And they wait. 

———————

Somehow, waiting for the next few hours turns into waiting for the next few days. In all of Zayn’s and Liam’s attempts, the texts, the calls, the messages — they all bounce back with no positive response. As it turns out, it seems as if no one at that party had changed their eye colour. With each growing day, the mystery shifts from a frustrating situation to a puzzling one.

“I don’t get it,” Zayn says. “I feel like we’ve gone through everyone.” It’s the morning of day eight, and they’re seated at the kitchen counter. Every morning, they check to see if anyone’s replied, and every morning, the result has been the same. “Can we just look at every matched guy on campus, and see if you recognize your green in their eyes?”

Louis shoots a look at Zayn. “You make it sound so easy. As if I look and memorize every speckle of my green eye every single day.” He tries to hide the bitter tone from his voice, but it comes out anyway. The bitterness reflects how useless he feels in this whole situation. 

Shoulders slumped, Zayn takes a defeated bite of toast. “It’s the only thing we’ve got.”

Running his hands along his face, Louis lets out a tired groan. Day eight, and still no response. How could this be so fucking hard? He places his head in his hands, trying to justify why this whole thing is happening. Maybe he doesn’t need a soulmate. Does he even need a soulmate?

“Maybe I don’t need a soulmate.” Louis directs the words to the table. “Maybe it’s just not meant to be, or some shit.” 

Louis feels his hands being peeled away from his face, revealing a pressed Zayn. “Louis,” he says, enunciating each syllable. “There’s a fucking reason why your soulmate is called your soulmate. Do you know how fucking lucky you are to find your soulmate, and on this damn campus, of all places?”

Of course he fucking knows. “Of course I fucking know,” Louis says, standing up in exasperation. It’s not like he needs a fucking reminder. He doesn’t know how being reminded of this very fact will make this situation marginally better. For all he knows, his soulmate is on the other side of the damn world. 

Wait. 

Louis freezes, turning around. “Zayn,” he whispers. He can hear the sharpness in his own voice.

Zayn blinks. “What?”

“We didn’t go through everyone,” Louis says, shaking his head. “Not everyone.”

Zayn’s eyes are wide. “What do you mean?”

“There’s one person who was at that party who I talked to,” Louis recalls, his memory refreshing as he says the words. “Bathroom Guy.”

His mind is suddenly clear now, a vivid recollection of the one interaction in the bathtub. He remembers the pleasant interaction, the easy silence with this person who he barely even knew. This person who he didn’t even see. Fuck. 

“Okay?” Zayn exclaims, clearly excited. “What did he look like?”

Once again, Louis curses the dark. “Um,” he says. “The lights were off. I didn’t see.”

Louis can see Zayn nodding slowly, clearly trying to reel in his panic. “Okay,” Zayn says slowly. “Okay. Did you get his name?”

Honestly, Zayn might as well start panicking. “No,” Louis says, and watches as Zayn slumps in his chair, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling in defeat. 

“Fuck. How are supposed to get to this guy, Louis?” 

Louis contemplates telling him. He shouldn’t tell him.

After a moment of consideration, Louis opens his mouth. Their situation is already pretty screwed. They might as well go all the way now. “Actually, Zayn,” Louis says. “I don’t even know if he’s in town. I heard him say he was supposed to catch a flight, or something.” He braces himself for the inevitable outburst that’s about to happen. 

It comes. 

“Oh my God,” Zayn yells, bringing his head down onto the table. Louis is pretty sure that’s going to give him a bruise. If anyone could be the epitome of the word ‘done’, Zayn’s face would probably be right there next to it in the dictionary. 

“It’s okay,” Louis says, looking down. It’s funny how he’s comforting Zayn, when he should probably be comforting himself. It’s his soulmate they’re talking about, after all. 

After over a week of trying, Louis can’t help but wonder if maybe it’s not meant to be. Maybe things aren’t meant to work for him. 

It’s not like everyone finds their soulmate, anyway. Statistically, less than half the people in the world don’t. Louis would just be like the majority of the population, like he already had been before he had met his soulmate. Before he had met Bathroom Guy. Whoever he was. 

Bathroom Guy. Louis shakes his head incredulously. He’s going to end up calling his soulmate Bathroom Guy for the rest of his whole fucking life. 

“Maybe I’m not meant to find my soulmate,” he tells Zayn, who looks at him like Louis’ only got one brain cell speaking on behalf of all the other brain cells. Louis doesn’t blame him. 

———————

If anyone asked him, Louis didn’t think he would become one of those people to meet their soulmate, only to lose them and never see them again. It’s not unheard of — people who make fleeting eye contact on an escalator, or people who lose each other in a crowd. There’s a bit of comfort in that fact. 

There are instances where people do meet their soulmate again, but that’s a twenty-five percent chance, or something like that, probably less. Louis didn’t really pay attention in science class when he was younger. An estimated twenty-five percent isn’t too bad, especially if they’re in the same city, but for those always on the go — the possibility is slim. 

There’s one day where Louis thinks he sees messy, curly brown hair climbing onto the train as he’s getting off. He almost gets whiplash as the door closes. As the train speeds away, Louis has to reassure himself that it’s probably some random guy. After all, he can’t very well jump at every guy with curly brown hair. That’s probably at least half the population in Manhattan. 

But for the most part, life goes on, because it has to. Life goes on, and it takes Louis a few months before he can think about his soulmate in a way that doesn’t jump to coping mechanisms or _what if_ s. Instead, he learns how to treat it more like a story. Like _one time I actually met my soulmate, haha, but he probably lives somewhere else in the world now and I never saw him again._ If Louis could convert the amount of sympathy looks he’s received into currency, he could probably buy a fucking yacht. 

It doesn’t stop him from glancing at the frat house every time he passes by, though. In those instances, he allows the night’s memories to visit him for just one brief moment, before walking away. It also doesn’t stop him from lying awake sometimes, questioning if his soulmate is wondering about him. If his soulmate even knows what he looks like. Usually, he forces himself to go to sleep before he can think about it too much. Don’t cry over spilled milk, and all that. 

But sometimes, on nights where Louis can’t sleep and his defenses have fallen, the nameless stranger revisits his thoughts. For some reason, he can still remember the warmth in his chest from the stranger’s laugh. He can still remember the pleasant buzz through his toes, the pulsing of his heart. 

Eventually, Louis accepts that even if he can’t see his soulmate again, he can at least be grateful for their first meeting. It’s acceptance. But acceptance comes with a hint of hope. Hope that maybe his soulmate is out there looking for him. That maybe someday he’ll stumble upon a curly brown-haired boy with a butterfly tattoo somewhere. 

Admittedly, it puts a strain on some of his relationships. No matter how much Louis tries, there’s not one person he meets who can amount to the feeling he had when meeting his soulmate for the first time. It’s a lot to compete with. On the other hand, it makes casual dating easier. So that’s what Louis does, for a while. 

So life continues. He graduates uni two years later with a double major in communications and design, and moves out to the city. He starts working for a well-known marketing firm, a job that he surprisingly likes, and he climbs his way to a respected position. He dates an unmatched guy named Raymond, who isn’t very tall and does not have messy brown hair. It’s easy with him, and if Louis had to describe the relationship, it wouldn’t be bad. Raymond lasts for a year, until he relocates to Australia for a job. In the midst of it all, Louis finds himself doing okay. 

So, Louis’ fine. He does his best to move on. 


	2. two

_and when the currents take us out again to opposite oceans, out of the hands of safety_   
_from the shallows to the deepest end,_   
_places we break and bend,_   
_you’re the one in it with me._

lights, "same sea"

———————

Most mornings, Louis takes the train to work. Well, most mornings. And today does not fall under the category of those.

Firstly, his cat had thrown up all over the carpet — probably a result of the new cat food Louis had bought. Secondly, Louis doesn’t know how to fucking clean a carpet. He’s aware he could have left the cat vomit on the carpet until he came back from work, but that would probably result in barf odor seeping through all his furniture. God, Louis misses having a roommate. It’s been five years since Zayn and Louis both graduated and abandoned their campus apartment. If Zayn were there, he could have cleaned up the cat barf, and Louis could have just peaced it and left.

So, the entire morning had been spent frantically Googling “how to clean up vomit on carpet” and watching countless YouTube videos. According to Google, this is a fairly common search, apparently. The demographic seems to be college students. Louis doesn’t want to think about how long ago he graduated or how he’s apparently still in the stage of his life where he has to Google vomit-cleaning strategies.

After scrubbing until his hands want to fall off, Louis checks the time. _Shit._ At this rate, he’ll be late for work. His cat, on the other hand, is sleeping peacefully in one corner, unaware of his morning turmoil. Whoever said cats were good pets can go to hell, because Lucy is a selfish companion. Louis should have gotten a damn dog. 

So now, Louis is standing on the edge of the curb outside his apartment, madly trying to wave down a taxi on this humid summer morning. Monday mornings are not a good time to try and wave down a taxi, which is why he usually takes the train. After ten minutes of flailing his arm, Louis successfully flags one down.

Twenty minutes later, he’s flying through the front doors of his office, waving his employee ID and blowing a kiss to Linda, the lovely receptionist. Linda quirks an amused eyebrow at him in return. No kiss for him today, it seems. Louis vows that she will return one, someday. 

He makes it to his desk at 9:05. Plopping down in his chair, he lets out a sigh of relief. Five minutes late isn’t bad, considering today’s events.

Julia chooses that moment to pop her head in. “Oh, good! You’re here.” Her voice is bright and chipper, and how does she do that all the time? Louis usually gives himself 5 minutes of optimism at the start of the work day before he gives up the act. 

“Don’t forget, we’re meeting the new employees in an hour. Please try to remember their names this time.” She raises an eyebrow knowingly.

Damn, was that today? Louis had forgotten about the new staff for the summer project. A meeting with a nervous pack of newbies, that’s something he’s certainly ready to do on a Monday morning. Today might just turn out to be a good day after all. He waves his hand in response, an unintentionally dismissive action. “Got it, Julia.”

“Don’t act so excited,” Julia says.

“Too late,” Louis replies, deadpan. “I’m a ball of excitement.” 

He earns an eye roll from Julia, before she asks, “Wanna grab a coffee?” Louis accepts.

Coffee culture, Louis has learned, is vital to having a social life within the office. The ten minute break is a good excuse to leave the desk, but is, more importantly, integral to forming office relationships. His friendship with Julia, for one, has been built upon their coffee breaks. It’s something that he doesn't regret one bit.

One thing he does somewhat regret, though, is betraying Britain. He had solely been a tea person before arriving in America, but he’s now begun to, somewhat shamefully, incorporate coffee into his life alongside tea. It’s hard when everyone in his office is American. 

After he’s returned to his office with a steaming latte, the next hour is spent checking emails, responding to clients, and popping in on Dan to see if he’s completed the website design yet. He narrowly avoids spilling coffee on his white shirt, and considers it a win. All in all, it’s been a decent morning so far. 

A knock on his door notifies him that it’s time to head downstairs. Grabbing his coffee, Louis begins the walk down to the conference room. He’s going to need a shitload of caffeine to make it through this damn meeting. 

As he rounds the corner, he almost crashes into a person. Louis jumps back, startled, a movement which promptly douses himself in hot coffee. He looks down in dismay to watch as the brown liquid seeps into the white cotton of his shirt. 

Louis jerks his head up to see who the _fuck_ ruined his top, ready to fire an uncourteous remark. Instead, his mind goes blank. 

He’s met with a man whose wavy brown hair looks effortlessly tousled, a look that Louis has never been able to achieve, despite his efforts. A lock of hair is falling over his face, green eyes staring back at Louis with a shocked expression, lips pursed in an _o_. Louis’ probably mirroring that expression himself, but it might be less because of the coffee and more about how gorgeous his offender is. He can’t look away. 

The coffee offender has also started to speak, apparently, because his pink lips are moving. Right, conversation. Louis is expected to respond. 

“Yes,” he finds himself saying, even though he doesn’t know what he’s saying yes to. 

Apparently it wasn’t quite an appropriate answer, because the man’s eyebrows furrow slightly. 

“Okay,” he says slowly. He’s _British,_ and his voice is deep, deep like a fucking ocean. Louis feels like he’s drowning. “I’ll just go get it from my car, then?”

A small part of Louis’ brain must have been paying attention, because it informs him that apparently, this man is offering to lend him a shirt. Louis snaps out of it, plastering a smile on his face. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Louis says, nodding, and slumps against the wall in embarrassment as soon as the man is out of sight. Who the hell is he? Louis hasn’t seen him before. 

A minute later, his shirt-staining perpetrator is back. As he approaches, Louis notices how tall he is. Tall, dark _and_ handsome. Louis’ mind has reverted to clichés. Oh, no. 

He brings his gaze to the man’s hand. He’s holding something purple. And floral. 

“I am not wearing that,” Louis blurts out, before he can help himself. 

“Well,” the man says, words dripping slow, “I don’t know what to tell you, mate. I think you’d look stunning in purple.” The edge of his mouth pulls up in a quirk. 

So he’s charming, too. Louis holds his ground. 

“I’d look stunning in a lot of things,” he says, before he remembers that he’s got coffee all the way down his shirt. 

_Abort, abort._

The man barks out a laugh, as if what Louis had said was actually funny. “I’m Harry,” he says, holding out a hand. Harry’s smile is bright and beaming, mesmerizing. 

Louis shakes his hand, trying not to pay attention at how Harry’s hand practically engulfs his. “Louis. Haven’t seen you around before,” he says instead. 

“Today’s my first day,” Harry offers. 

Ah. One of those newbies, then. Louis nods. “What’s your position?” Position, ha. He tries not to bite his tongue on the innuendo. He’s trying to be professional, here.

“I’m the photographer for the summer project,” Harry says. 

At that, Louis’ eyebrows fly up. “Oh, hey. I’m involved with that,” he says dumbly. As if the whole office isn’t involved with that. 

Nevertheless, Harry gives him a bright smile. “Oh! Cool,” he says, as if he means it.

Then it clicks. “You must be Harry Styles. Your photos,” Louis stammers, suddenly excited, “are amazing. We’re so excited to have you on the team this summer.” 

Louis remembers now. In the process of vetting photographers for the summer project, there was a certain portfolio that had caught his eye. A series of dreamy photos of portraits that were somehow able to encompass both mystery and a kind of alluring fantasy. There had been a sort of femininity prominent in each shot, a femininity that wasn’t portrayed through standard themes of flowery innocence. It was bold, yet still held a dimension of softness, and Louis’ breath had been taken away. Upon searching for a name to give to Julia, Louis had been surprised to see that the photographer was a man. Harry Styles. 

Now, looking at Harry — his painted nails, his purple floral shirt — he can identify that same fearless femininity. Which, for this particular campaign, is perfect. 

At Louis’ compliment, Harry’s smile turns wide and bashful, a dimple forming into his cheek. “Thank you,” he says, shrugging a little bit. “That’s very kind of you.” 

Louis begins to smile in response, remembering mid-smile that they’ve got a meeting to attend to. Crap. He checks his watch. 9:58.

“Um, I’ve got to,” Louis starts, gesturing toward his shirt. Most of the white is now brown. The dampness is really starting to set in now that the coffee has cooled.

Harry blinks. “Oh yes, right,” he says, hastily passing his shirt to Louis. “Here. Go change.”

“Thanks,” Louis replies. He’s looking at Harry as he says it, but the moment where he should turn away passes. He should probably stop staring before it gets even more weird.

“Bye,” Louis says, and turns on his heel, clutching Harry’s purple shirt without waiting for a response. 

It’s not until he closes the bathroom door that he realizes his hands are damp with sweat. Looking up at the mirror, he sees a frazzled version of himself staring back. 

“Get it together, Tommo,” he mutters. “You can’t start panicking over a new colleague at work just because he’s cute _and_ talented.” 

Dressing quickly, he makes it to the conference room only two minutes late. Julia gives him a disapproving look, but once her eyes catch on to Louis’ shirt, her expression changes into one of confusion. Now that Louis is looking around, it seems as if most people in the room are giving his shirt perplexed looks. It’s not every day that someone wears a bold floral shirt in the workplace. 

They’re going through introductions, apparently. Louis takes this opportunity to scan all of the nervous, unfamiliar faces, and observes his new colleagues. His eyes land on Harry, who’s standing on the other side of the room, listening attentively. 

Harry’s all long legs and bright eyes, hands clasped behind his back like a kid in primary school. He’s dressed like a chic model — white collared shirt, top two buttons left open. His pants are even fitted. Louis, who’s never even been to the fucking tailor, is not worthy. 

Right then, Harry’s eyes lift to meet his. Seeing Louis’ new attire, he gives a grin and a thumbs up. Louis finds himself smiling back. Harry’s eyes crinkle in response. 

Harry’s got green eyes. Not heterochromatic. Green, matched eyes. 

Louis wonders if Harry’s got someone waiting for him at home, someone who deals with Harry’s floral shirts and coffee-spilling antics. _He probably does._ Peeling his eyes away, he focuses his attention on Julia, who’s currently introducing herself as the creative director. 

Five more people introduce themselves, and then it’s Louis’ turn. What were they supposed to say in their introduction, again? Name and department. Right. 

“I’m Louis. My favourite colour is purple floral.” A few chuckles ring out across the room. From the corner of his eye, he can’t help but notice Harry’s mouth widen into a grin.

Julia coughs. “Department, Louis?” 

“I’m the art director,” he says, and the introduction is then passed on to John, a content producer on the third floor.

The meeting ends uneventfully, as most introduction meetings do. Out of the dozens of new staff, there are maybe three names that Louis remembers. Oh well. 

Some people linger nearby, waiting to use the coffee machine in the break room across the hall. Louis sees Harry lining up nervously, sidestepping politely as someone reaches across to grab a stir stick. Suddenly, Louis’ being pulled aside by Dan.

“Louis,” Dan starts, and Louis’ got a feeling that whatever is about to come out of his mouth will be mildly irritating. “I’ve got some concerns about our header. What do you think? Orange or blue?”

Dan really should have finished the header last week. Louis grits his teeth, tries to stop himself from rolling his eyes too hard. “None of them, Dan,” he replies, and spends the next ten minutes trying not to sigh too much during his explanation of why orange and blue simply do not match their theme at _all._ By the time they’ve settled on mint green, everyone’s cleared out of the area. The coffee line is vacant. Louis treks back upstairs, ready to start emailing clients for the summer project.

He’s excited about the summer project. It’s no big deal, really, except for the fact that H&M is launching a lingerie line and had approached them, in an attempt to reach for something _fresh_ and _new_. Yup, no big deal at all. However, this project means more hours, more brain power, and more coffee needing to be chugged. All of which Louis is prepared to do. 

The truth is, he loves this job. Admittedly, it’s not a position that Louis ever thought he would end up with. It wasn’t until he started scrambling for internships in his senior year that he had landed upon one here, and after charming his way through, ended up getting a full-time job. To his own surprise, he had enjoyed it, and he was _good_ at it. So good, that after only four years of being here, they had offered him the role of art director, and Louis hadn’t even had to think before accepting. 

The rest of the day is spent working at his desk, pulling inspiration from different lingerie brands and jotting ideas down as he brainstormed with Julia for a good two hours. There’s a whole lot of looking at women’s underwear for a normal day job. That’s something that Louis hasn’t done since he was 14, when he still thought he was straight. Good times. 

The afternoon flies by. Before Louis knows it, the clock hits five. He hasn’t checked his phone in hours, and sees a text from Zayn, asking if he wants to grab pints with him and Liam and some guy named Niall. _Sure,_ he texts back, grabbing his jacket and closing the door behind him. Calling out a goodbye to Julia, he makes his way to the elevator and out the building doors.

Summers in Manhattan are not the best. Even after years of living here, Louis has yet to adjust to the humid, sticky weather that suffocates in full force come July. Thankfully, they’re only at the beginning of June, and Louis still has time to relish the current temperature of the ideal in-between. 

Though it’s evening, the day is still bright, matching the cacophony of sounds bustling around him. It’s on days like these, with perfect weather, that Louis wishes that he lived somewhere that resembled the definition of summer. Dirty streets and rushing feet don’t exactly scream _summer,_ but alas. He could be in worse places. As the thought crosses his mind, he almost gets run over by a teenager on a bike. 

Or maybe not. 

As Louis regains his composure, a flash of colour catches his eye. He’s still wearing Harry’s shirt. A quick glance at a reflective window informs him that the shirt _does_ looks good on him, even if it is a bit oversized. Huh. 

The pub is on the edge of downtown, just a quick commute. It’s an old establishment that Louis and Zayn have been frequenting for years since uni. By now, it’s become tradition. Along the way, Liam had begun to join them as well, and Louis enjoyed his company enough that he didn’t feel like too much of a third wheel. _Too_ much. The exception being those nights where Zayn and Liam got proper plastered and started making out in the pub.

As Louis walks through the door, he takes in the familiar atmosphere with a comfortable sigh. This place never gets old. 

It takes a few scans across the room to find Zayn and Liam, situated in a booth, as they always are. Today, there’s a new addition. Louis’ assumption that the brown-haired man is Niall is quickly confirmed when he gets up to introduce himself. Louis makes note of the accent. _Irish._

“We were from the same fraternity in uni,” Liam explains, after Louis has shaken Niall’s hand. 

Louis nods, taking a seat. It makes sense that Liam still keeps in touch with his friends from uni, with the whole frat culture and all. Louis, on the other hand, only really keeps in touch with Zayn, who is his own equivalent of all of Liam’s university friends. “So you also went to NYU, then?” 

Niall shakes his head. “I went to Brown, but we met through a Facebook social group for our fraternity and bonded over golf.”

“Niall recently moved to the city with his friend,” Liam explains.

Louis raises his glass of water. “Welcome. And no offense,” he adds, “but golf is boring.”

“You’re boring,” Liam retorts, flicking Louis’ ear. Being in a relationship with Zayn for the past few years has unfortunately given Liam the impression that he’s got free rein to make fun of Louis the same way Zayn does. Louis glares at him, which apparently doesn’t threaten Liam at all, as he moves to flick the other ear. 

Swatting away Liam’s hand, Louis turns to Zayn, who doesn’t appear concerned. “Control your pet.”

“I don’t know,” Zayn says, a smirk on his face. He leans back easily, looking at Liam. “He likes to control me.”

Niall cackles as a blush passes over Liam’s cheeks, and _gross,_ too much fucking information. 

Louis scrunches up his nose in disgust. “I did not need to know that, thank you very much.” He tries to flag down someone to take their order before Zayn reveals another one of his kinks. There is no way he’d be able to deal with that information (and imagery) sober. 

Thankfully, the next hour passes without any more discussions of Liam and Zayn’s sex life. Instead, they move to other topics, which are all mostly PG, thank God. Louis learns that Niall has only arrived to New York a week ago, and landed a job at a record label. This launches a full-blown discussion about music — the brilliance of the Black Panther album, which Kanye album is the best. 

“ _The Life of Pablo,_ ” Liam suggests, because Liam is a basic bitch. 

Louis points a finger at him, on the verge of beginning a debate. “TLOP is not the best album, I beg to differ,” he says, which causes Liam to roll his eyes. “It’s _My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy._ Do you even listen to Kanye, Liam?” 

“Got to agree with Louis on this one, babe,” Zayn says, reaching over Louis to steal a fry. “It’s an iconic record.” 

“Besides _808s and Heartbreak_ ,” Niall says with gusto, because Niall is educated, apparently, and has good taste. Louis reaches across to give him a high five in approval.

“An influential, definitive album of our time,” Louis agrees, and makes a note to give it a re-listen before he goes to bed tonight. It’s the perfect emo album. 

“By the way.” Niall nods toward Louis’ chest. “Cool shirt. My best mate’s got the same one, I think.” He takes a swig of his beer.

Louis glances down, having forgotten about the purple monstrosity on his torso. “Not mine, actually. Spilled coffee and my colleague lent me his.”

Leaning forward, Zayn’s eyes narrow, analyzing Louis’ clothes — probably envisioning himself in the purple shirt. “I think it would look better on me.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Louis mutters, even though Zayn is probably right. “You look terrible in everything.”

Liam‘s brows draw together, as they do when anyone in the universe dares to utter even one negative thing about his boyfriend. “That wasn’t very nice.”

Louis shoots Liam, Zayn’s Ultimate Defender, an unimpressed look. “Zayn called me a bitch-ass shit a few minutes ago and _that_ wasn’t nice. How come you didn’t say anything then?”

Liam shrugs and grins, taking a sip of his beer. “Must have forgotten.” Zayn’s smile widens. Gross.

“How come you didn’t bring your mate, Niall?” Zayn cuts in, before Louis can do any additional verbal damage to his boyfriend. “Doubt he’s got any friends in New York, either.”

“ _Either?_ You saying I’m friendless?” Niall says, but the words are delivered with a playful grin. Louis likes him, admires his cheerful disposition. “He’s got some yoga class or something. Yoga classes go late.”

“I tried yoga once,” Liam pipes up, like this is important information that everyone needs to know. “Couldn’t do it. Don’t have the patience.”

“Nobody asked, Leemo,” Louis quips, earning another eye roll from Liam. A night spent with Liam wouldn’t be complete without multiple jabs at him. Louis loves Liam, though, especially since he’s come out of his serious shell a bit since hanging around them. Not that he’d ever tell him that. Maybe he _should_ be nicer. 

Liam interrupts his thoughts by snatching Louis’ burger, taking a whole bite. He puts it back on Louis’ plate, chewing obnoxiously while maintaining eye contact. 

And then again, maybe being nice is overrated. 

Zayn’s eyes flit between Louis and Liam. “You should invite him out next time,” he says to Niall. His voice raises higher, as if that would dispel the immature banter between his best friend and his boyfriend. No can do. Louis throws a fry at Liam, who catches it delightfully before popping it in his mouth. 

Nodding in response, Niall brings his beer to his lips. “Yeah, I’ll let him know.” 

At that moment, Liam chooses to dump all of Louis’ fries on his lap. Louis laughs so hard that beer snorts out of his nose, much to Zayn’s dismay. It’s a great night.

———————

Thankfully, Louis’ cat does not vomit the next day. He does, however, sit on Louis’ face as a general wake up call after Louis has pressed the snooze button about three times. He doesn’t know whether he should be disgusted or thankful. 

As a result, Louis arrives at work early, early enough that he’s able to make a stop at the coffee machine before the dreaded line starts. After plopping his bag down at his desk, he ambles downstairs with his mug. The mug was a generous Christmas gift from Zayn, who had painted a peach emoji on it with loving care. “Because of your plump arse!” he had yelled drunkenly when Louis had unwrapped the present. He had followed this statement by slapping Louis on the butt, and threw up in the garden a minute later. 

A quick glimpse through the window of the break room reveals that Louis isn’t the only one in need of coffee. Harry’s in there, wearing a collared rose-coloured shirt. Clearly, a man who isn’t afraid of pink. Louis respects that. 

Okay, so it looks like he’ll have to engage in small talk. With his attractive, charming coworker. Louis can do this. He steels himself before turning the doorknob.

As he steps inside the brightly lit interior, Harry begins to turn around. Louis averts his eyes, closing the door slowly before bringing his gaze back. He feigns surprise, as if he hadn’t even noticed another person in the room. _Oh, what a surprise to see you here, you’re making coffee, too?_

“Oh hey, Harry,” Louis says cheerfully, nodding in greeting. A master of deception, he is. 

Harry beams, straightening up. “Good morning, Louis. How are you?” He’s so polite, this Harry. 

“I’m alright.” Louis approaches the marble counter where Harry is parked in front of the coffee machine. “My cat didn’t vomit today, so.”

“What?”

A look of amused confusion appears on Harry’s face. Distantly, Louis thinks he enjoys watching Harry’s face contort into different expressions.

Right, give the man some context. “My cat puked yesterday,” Louis explains, as Harry moves aside to make room for Louis. Harry waves towards the machine, and Louis accepts his invitation to step up to the Keurig. 

“I had a cat,” Harry offers conversationally, while Louis fiddles through the different choices of coffee pods. French vanilla sounds tempting. Would Harry judge him for picking French vanilla? He picks it anyway. 

“Really?” Louis pops the pod inside, closing the lid. 

“I had a cat when I was seven,” Harry elaborates, tone cheerful. “Then my cousin accidentally ran him over.”

Louis blinks at him. “Oh. Um. That’s a very morbid story.”

“It is,” Harry agrees, and Louis isn’t really sure how to go on from here. Harry’s gaze follows Louis’ movements as he presses the buttons on the Keurig, propped up against the counter like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. If it weren’t for the fact they were in a fucking break room, Harry would resemble a relaxed man on the beach. Louis wonders if he always looks like this. 

Louis suddenly jolts with a realization. “I forgot to bring your shirt today,” he blurts. He feels self-conscious about this, about the fact that he borrowed a shirt from someone he just met and forgot to return it. Shit. He sucks. 

But Harry’s response is an easy laugh and a casual wave of the hand. “It’s fine. Take your time. I’ve got other floral shirts in my vault.”

Something about Harry’s response makes Louis relax. “Are you secretly a white dad with a collection of Hawaiian shirts?” he asks. He wonders just how many floral shirts Harry owns. Judging from his model-like clothing and physique, Louis guesses quite a few. Not that Louis has been looking at his physique. Like, at all. 

“I do have lots of Hawaiian shirts,” Harry admits, lips quirked up. “They’re very comfortable.”

Louis crinkles his nose. Hawaiian shirts remind him of old desperate men. “For me, comfort is something that doesn’t make me look like a 40-year old man with a middle aged crisis, thanks.”

This brings a laugh out of Harry, eyes sparkling. God, how can a man be so stupidly pretty?

“Is that what I’m having?” Harry puts a finger to his chin, an act of thoughtfulness. “Makes sense.”

Louis makes the exaggerated action of assessing Harry, looking him up and down. “You probably didn’t know, but you _are_ the embodiment of a sad 40-year old man.” He shakes his head sadly. “It’s good that someone has finally told you the truth.” 

Harry’s face twitches, lips pursed to conceal his laughter. “I’m so thankful, really. I can’t believe I might have continued suffering if not for you.”

“That’s what everybody says, until they meet me,” Louis tells him. “I’m a fucking saint, you know.”

Harry’s grin is big, spreading across his whole face. “Really? Doesn’t seem like you have a holiday, though.”

So Harry, in addition to being extremely attractive, happens to be a little shit. Louis can play with this.

“It’s because I’m so selfless, actually,” Louis says, giving a one-shouldered shrug, “that I gave my holiday to all the other saints who didn’t have one. There are limited holiday spots. Not each saint can have one.”

Harry nods somberly, but the twitch at the edge of his mouth betrays his amusement. “The world is grateful. You’ve done us a great deed.”

“Thank you for acknowledging me,” Louis replies with a sniff. “It’s what I need every day. More validation.” As he’s done speaking, he notices that Harry’s mug is empty. 

“No coffee for you, then?” Louis inquires, nodding toward his mug. 

In response, Harry gestures at a kettle. “I’m getting tea, actually.” It’s only now that Louis’ realizes that the kettle’s been boiling for the past few minutes. 

This. This is something that Louis can relate to. “Me too,” he says, and immediately regrets how stupidly excited he sounds. As if he’s never met someone who likes tea. 

But Harry laughs, eyes twinkling. “Americans, right? They love their coffee. I’m impartial, but I do miss my cuppa.”

Bless Harry and his British understanding of tea. Louis is not alone in the office. He leans in. “This kettle’s actually not very good,” he tells him, like it’s a trade secret. Then again, for an appliance in the break room, it _is_ a relatively slow kettle. “I just use Tom’s kettle when he’s not here.”

Harry accepts his information with a solemn nod of the head. “Looks like I’ll have to befriend Tom, then.”

“Oh no,” Louis says sincerely. “Do not befriend Tom. He will talk to you nonstop about his bug collection.” 

“Ah,” Harry says, his expression perplexed. Probably contemplating whether he wants to hear about bugs for hours. “That is a good point.” 

The coffee machine emits a final sputter, indicating that the coffee pod has thoroughly seeped through. 

His coffee is done, it seems. No other reason to stay in this room. 

He reaches for his mug, bringing it up to salute Harry. “Well, I’m off.” 

“Bye, Louis,” Harry calls. “It was nice to see you.”

Nice. It was nice to see him. 

“You too,” Louis says, backing toward the door. He leaves before he can analyze Harry’s words too much. He leaves before he can say anything stupid. 

———————

That afternoon, Louis finishes typing up all his meeting points, gathering them together in an outline. He’s got a definite vision for this project, and today is the day he’s going to lay it all out for his team. Whether or not they’ll understand is up to how effectively he delivers this vision. He’s got this.

An hour later, Louis glances around at all the expectant faces staring back at him, both new and old staff. He stands up from his chair, positioned at the head of the conference table. 

“Hi,” Louis says. He puts his hands together in an attempt to calm his nerves. “Thank you all for coming today. As you know, H&M have asked us to launch their lingerie line. They’ve asked for something different, and so, something different is what we are giving them.” Taking a deep breath, he lays out his mood boards, a collection of photos he’s been slaving over the past few months. 

Louis knows it’s a risk to incorporate male models in a lingerie campaign. For a huge corporation, no less. But this is 2019, for God’s sake. He steels himself, turning to his Powerpoint, and begins his presentation. 

As the hour goes on, Louis notices the visible excitement appearing on people’s faces. Not bored, or aversive reactions. It’s the encouragement Louis needs to deliver the final stretch of his presentation.

At the end of the meeting, his team members are buzzing, discussing ideas among one another. Louis leaves the room, floating. 

He fucking loves this job. 

———————

As time goes on, it seems as if Louis keeps bumping into Harry. If not at the coffee machine, then it’s in the hallway. If not the hallway, then it’s Julia’s office, Harry happily engaging with her in a conversation about monkeys. 

Monkeys. Louis doesn’t know why he’s not surprised that Harry’s the type to chat about monkeys in the workplace.

Sometimes, when those scenarios turn into instances where they’re left alone, they’ll end up chatting briefly. Louis has learned various things, like the fact that Harry really loves to make smoothies. Louis, on the other hand, has never made a fucking smoothie in his life. What’s the difference between smoothies and juice, anyway?

But besides these short interactions, Harry’s everywhere. He’s everywhere, and it’s all that Louis sees. A flash of brown hair, a knee covered by black denim, an inked elbow. Wherever Louis goes. 

Or maybe, Louis realizes one afternoon after running into Harry at the bathroom, he’s only seen him frequently because he’s been paying attention. He doesn’t know what to make of the thought.

Anyway, he’s brought Harry’s shirt today, because it’s been a week. Louis cannot look like an irresponsible asshole. He’s a fucking adult. 

On his way to the break room for his daily dose of caffeine, Louis grabs the shirt. Harry should be in his office right now, so he makes his way there first. 

He checks the shirt for any stains. He’s pretty sure he was eating spaghetti the last time he wore this shirt.

Okay, yes. He will admit he’s worn it even after the day Harry gave it to him. But that was because it was the first shirt he saw, and he needed to put something on quickly, okay. Besides all that, it’s a nice quality shirt. Louis, even as a fucking adult, does not have any nice quality shirts. 

As the photographer for a seasonal project, Harry has a temporary office. So when Louis sticks his head in, he’s not surprised to find a bare room, equipped with only a white desk and an office chair. A bunch of camera bags and tripods are also present, sitting in the corner. Harry is seated in the chair with a focused expression on his face.

“Knock knock,” Louis calls out, and mentally kicks himself. 

Looking up from his laptop, Harry’s face morphs into one with a smile. “Louis,” he says, loudly. “Hi.”

Louis holds up the shirt in his hand. “Been meaning to return this to you.” He steps into Harry’s office.

“Oh, no bother.” Harry waves his hand dismissively before taking the shirt. Louis spots an array of rings on his fingers. Harry has nice fingers, he notices. He gulps. Maybe that’s a weird thing to be noticing. _Not now,_ he thinks. 

“What are you working on?” Louis says, willing himself to think about anything else but Harry’s fingers. 

Instead, he approaches Harry’s desk. Hopefully Harry doesn’t have weird porn open on his screen, or anything. 

Harry doesn’t move to close his laptop, so nothing incriminating, probably. “I was thinking about what you were talking about at the meeting last week,” Harry says. “It reminded me of some old stuff I’ve shot.” He angles the laptop, allowing Louis to peer at the screen. 

It’s a website. Harry’s website, specifically. And a website, that, admittedly, Louis had spent some time gawking over when choosing to hire for the summer project. 

Harry’s got some stunning photographs on there. However, these ones on the screen, in particular, are ones that Louis hasn’t seen — portraits of various people in different landscapes. A girl lounging in a green bathtub, another sitting on the hood of a car in a valley. Each picture, Louis notices, is shot on film, evoking a hazy feeling of nostalgia. 

“These are amazing,” Louis says, and it comes out in a hushed breath. He’s in awe. 

When he looks up, Harry’s blushing, face tilted slightly downward. “Really?” 

Does this person not get any praise? Louis shakes his head in disbelief at Harry’s bashful reaction. “Yes,” he replies, emphasizing the word. “They’re amazing.”

“Your mood board and the vision you were aiming for made me think of this shoot,” Harry explains, gesturing to the screen. “Shooting our models in very mundane natural landscapes, places where people wouldn’t usually wear lingerie. But very dreamy, you know?”

As Harry says the words, Louis begins to envision Harry’s description in his head. He can see it all — placing their models in various environments, evoking a certain sentiment from each landscape, selling a dream. 

“I love that.”

Harry’s face lights up like a light bulb, and Louis thinks, _your aura is so bright._

“I’ll talk to Julia about it,” Louis adds. It’s a genius idea. 

“Awesome,” Harry says, all smiles. 

“I’m about to get some coffee,” Louis says, before he can stop himself. “Do you need coffee? Do you want to come with?” _Make a sentence, will you?_

“Yes,” Harry beams, rising from his chair. “I’d love to.” 

Belatedly, Louis realizes that he’s just given Harry a coffee invitation, and follows Harry out of the office. A silence settles in between them as they walk down the hallway. Louis wonders if he should say something. 

“Nice mug,” Harry pipes up. Louis looks down at the mug in his hand. It’s the peach emoji mug.

“My best mate gave it to me,” Louis says, wondering how to best approach this situation. Should he explain it? Is it weird to talk about arses with your new colleague? 

Before Louis can send himself into an in-depth analysis of proper workplace etiquette, Harry nods in amusement. “Butt,” he says in acknowledgement. 

Maybe it doesn’t matter. Louis can’t help but feel his face stretch into a smile. “Butt.” 

“Why butt?” Harry inquires, tilting his head. Apparently they’re speaking like toddlers now.

Louis angles his ass toward Harry. “Have you not seen my ass? It’s better than most men’s,” he says, and immediately wants to die. Was that unprofessional? Scratch that. Definitely unprofessional. 

Harry looks at Louis’ butt and doesn’t say anything for a second. “Yes,” he says, and Louis needs a moment to remember what they were even talking about amongst his sudden bout of panic. Right. Louis just bragged about his bum to a colleague that he’s only met recently. 

“Have you seen _my_ butt, though?” Harry asks suddenly, turning around and sticking out his ass. “Flat as a pancake.”

Louis bursts out laughing, relief bubbling up in his throat. Okay. Apparently Harry is the kind of person who is okay with butt jokes at work. He does not take the invitation to look at Harry’s ass, though. Nope. 

Once they arrive at the break room, Harry gestures politely at the coffee machine, allowing Louis to go first. 

“So, excited for the weekend?” Harry asks, as Louis’ coffee starts to brew. 

Louis nods. “Glad to take a break, I guess.” He means it. Being a responsible adult requires him to wake up at seven every single morning, and that shit is hard, okay. Weekends are reserved solely for sleeping in. 

“What are you doing tonight?” Louis says, for the purpose of continuing conversation. He realizes, with a delayed panic, that it sounds like a proposition.

“Um,” Harry says. “I’m going out with my roommate tonight,” Harry says. “Gonna meet some of his new friends or something. Don’t know if I’ll go, though.” He shrugs.

“Why not?”

“Just… you know. Tired.” Harry shuffles his feet. 

There’s a beat where it seems as if Harry’s waiting for Louis to speak. Then the coffee machine signals, and Louis takes the cue to collect his coffee. 

“What are your plans?” Harry asks, while Louis pulls his mug from the Keurig. 

“Just going out for a pint with my best mate and his boyfriend,” Louis says, taking a sip. French Vanilla again, because why the fuck not. “Been doing it for years now, weekly tradition.”

Harry places a coffee pod into the machine, dark roast. Louis doesn’t know how he drinks that stuff, because dark roast is gross. “Sounds fun. Is that the guy who gave you the peach mug?”

“Yes,” Louis affirms. “Peach mug guy.”

“Tell him he’s got good taste,” Harry says, and Louis is speechless for a moment, unsure if Harry’s talking about his butt or the mug. 

Louis realizes that the acceptable amount of time to pause has already passed, and that he still hasn’t replied yet. So he chuckles, because he doesn’t know what else to do, and says, “Yeah, I’ll let him know.”

Thankfully, Harry’s smile stays the same, letting out a laugh. Louis tries his best to calm his beating heart. 

_God,_ Louis thinks as they head back to their offices, Harry’s laugh ringing in his head. _I didn’t think working here would be_ this _hard._

———————

As it turns out, Dan’s website layout is fucking shit, because Dan, apparently, does not know how to follow directions. Louis spends half an hour badgering him, and then another half hour complaining to Julia. Julia, bless her heart, listens earnestly. 

By the time Louis steps onto the train, he’s exhausted. He’s done with this fucking week. He needs a drink, and he needs to lie down. Maybe he’ll go home early and sleep for ten hours after the pub. 

On his commute, Louis finds himself thinking about Harry. In his defense, it’s not like he meant to think about the man — it’s the same as thinking about grass, or the sky. Not that Louis usually thinks about either of these things.

Regardless, he thinks about Harry. A lot. Thinks about how, if there’s one thing he’s noticed about Harry, is that he’s charming as hell. Louis has realized that in every conversation, Harry is an avid listener, staring at the person intently when they speak, hanging onto every word. He thinks about how Harry, apparently, is the type of guy who makes an effort to know every single person in every single department by the end of the first week, and continues to greet everybody by name. Even the custodian, who Louis himself sees for only a total of five seconds everyday. Louis doesn’t know what planet Harry comes from. In comparison, Louis is a shitty person.

Then he thinks about how, for some reason, there’s something about him that keeps demanding Louis’ attention. How there’s something that keeps causing Louis to snap up his head when he hears Harry laugh. How he’s automatically aware of his presence when he’s in the room. 

It’s a lot to take in. 

Louis doesn’t know what to do with this thought. So he doesn’t. He shuts his eyes and tries to take a nap. 

The nap is interrupted when the train lady’s automated voice notifies Louis that his destination is nearing. Tucking his phone away, Louis steps off the train and onto the street. It’s a five-minute walk to the pub. 

Upon arriving at the table, Louis sees the brown mop of hair that he has now been acquainted with as Niall. Peering closer, Louis sees another addition. Niall’s not alone. 

The man has wavy brown hair. Louis doesn’t need him to turn around before he knows who it is. 

“Louis!” Zayn yells, and Harry turns around to meet Louis’ eyes. _What the fuck._

Louis puts two and two together. Harry’s roommate is Niall. Niall is Harry’s best friend. What in the fucking fuck. 

Thankfully, it only takes a half-second of shock for Louis to compose his reaction into something socially acceptable. Converse now, process information later.

“Hey y’all,” Louis says, giving the table a wave. He has never said the word “y’all” before today. Zayn raises an inquisitive eyebrow. 

As it turns out, the only spot available is next to Harry. Louis slides in, taking off his jacket. Hopefully Harry can’t smell his nervous sweat.

“Hi Louis,” Harry chirps, smiling warmly. 

“Hey,” Louis says, hoping that his face has morphed into a normal expression. _I was totally_ not _just thinking about you on the train._

Liam gestures between them, curiosity clear on his face. “You two know each other?”

“Harry just started working at Pulse,” Louis informs the table. As soon as Louis has completed his sentence, Niall’s eyes widen, glancing back and forth between Louis and Harry. 

“You mean —” Niall starts, just as Harry launches into a coughing fit. 

“Sorry,” Harry rasps, after five seconds of consistent coughing. “I’ve been having a really bad cough lately. You were saying, Niall?” 

Niall blinks. “Um. I forgot,” he mumbles, casting his eyes downwards. 

“So,” Harry says, leaning forward eagerly. “Anyone read any good books recently?”

Louis doesn’t have time to ponder about the sudden change in subject before Zayn pipes up, “I read this really cool book recently about robots,” and they launch into whatever nerdy shit Zayn’s been into recently. 

“I don’t know how I feel about robots,” Liam ponders, looking actually perplexed. “What if they take over the world?”

“Don’t be a pussy, Liam,” Louis quips, because this is the kind of shit he knows will rile Liam up. 

Sure enough, to Louis’ delight, a look of exasperation crosses Liam’s facial features. “How is fearing world domination being a pussy? You’re telling me you’d rather die at the hands of robots?”

“You’re telling me you’re scared of metal machines?” Louis retorts, just for the sake of debate. 

“I think I could take them on,” Niall offers from his end of the table. 

“You’re telling me you’re _not_ scared of machines?” Liam shoots back, ignoring Niall completely. “Those things could wipe out the whole earth.”

“Like Ultron,” Zayn adds. Louis high fives him, because Marvel. 

“Is that the Avengers movie?” Harry questions, gnawing on an onion ring. “I haven’t watched it.”

Louis stares at him for a moment. “I don’t know you,” he decides. 

“Heeeey.” Harry’s lips purse into a cute pout. “They have like, fifty movies. You can’t expect me to watch them all.”

Louis raises his eyebrows challengingly. “Maybe you’re just weak.”

Harry pokes Louis in the side, as if he’s five. “Take that back.” 

Louis pretends that Harry’s unexpected touch doesn’t nearly send him into cardiac arrest, and wiggles away. “Sorry, Styles. I don’t talk to weaklings.”

“I’m not weak. I box,” Harry says, looking up at Louis from beneath his lashes. 

Fuck. And that is definitely something that Louis _did not_ need to know. Louis’ brain wonders if Harry could lift him with one hand. God. 

Before Louis can process this information fully, the waiter comes by to collect their drink orders. At Niall’s insistence, they order tequila shots, but settle on two rounds despite his persistent attempts to order three. 

“Y’all are wimps,” Niall yells, as he downs each shot like water, and proceeds to chug half a pint of beer. A true Irishman. 

Wedging a lime in between his mouth, Louis gives him the finger. “Your best mate is wild,” he shouts at Harry. The music has progressively gotten louder as more people have come into the pub. 

“I know,” Harry shouts back. Niall chooses that moment to throw a lime at them, and then laughs maniacally. 

More beers come, inevitably resulting in more drinking. Suddenly, Liam’s standing at the side of the table. “Pool!” he exclaims, gesturing towards the shadowy corner of the room. 

They relocate to the other side of the pub, which has a series of pool tables in a more open area. Friday nights are crowded in the pub, but thankfully, they find a vacant table. 

Picking up a cue stick, Louis points it at Harry. “Styles,” he calls out, before he thinks better of it. “Be my partner? Zayn sucks at pool.”

“I wouldn’t partner with you even if I were playing,” Zayn calls out from the side. Zayn has opted to sit out from the game and instead sip on a margarita — and rightfully so, seeing as Zayn, as a general rule, sucks at anything which involves a smidgen of hand-eye coordination. 

Harry bends down in an exaggerated bow. “It is my honour.”

Louis brings the cue stick down on the right side of Harry’s shoulders, then the left. “Sir Styles of Landon’s Pub,” he says, summoning the best kingly voice he can muster. “I dub thee knight of my pool team, the best kick-ass pool team you could have chosen. Rise, sir.” Louis is definitely feeling the alcohol. 

Harry waves to the imaginary crowd. “This is the best day of my life,” he says, wiping an invisible tear from his eye. 

“Are you guys done?” Niall calls from the other side of the table. “We’re trying to beat your asses at pool, bastards.”

It turns out that Harry sucks at pool. Louis has seen Harry trip over his own feet multiple times — if his motor skills are generally impaired in a sober state, drunk Harry is ten times worse. On every turn, he misses the cue ball, laughing wildly instead. Despite Harry’s inadequacy of bar games, Louis can’t bring himself to regret choosing him over Zayn. Not that this is going to stop him from complaining about Harry’s lack of skills. And possibly using the opportunity to show how he is the absolute _king_ of pool. 

“Watch this, Styles,” Louis says, when it’s his turn. He picks up the cue stick. “Watch and learn from a pro.” From the sidelines, Zayn rolls his eyes. 

Louis twirls once, twice, three times. After his third spin, he brings the cue stick to the ball, shoots it, and misses entirely. Liam and Niall cheer, and drunkenly attempt a high-five.

Harry doubles over laughing. “Wait,” he says, gasping for breath. “I wanna try.” 

“It’s not even your turn,” complains Liam, as Harry takes the cue stick, twirls around just as fast, and immediately shoots the cue ball. 

It goes in. 

“Yes!” Harry yells, pulling Louis into a hug, and Louis ends up folded into a large embrace of octopus limbs. Harry, Louis notes, smells like strawberry. When he lets go, Louis hopes that the pub lights are too dim for everyone to see how red his cheeks are. 

“That,” Liam says flatly, “was luck.” 

“Oh, Liam.” Louis ruffles his hair. “Green’s not a good colour on you.”

For the remainder of the pool game, Louis and Harry take turns creating the most ridiculous, outrageous pool skill combinations they can come up with. During his turn, Louis almost pokes Liam in the eye. Harry accidentally hits his head on the ceiling when he jumps during one of his turns, and has to sit out for ten minutes nursing his head. All in all, a great game. If Harry and Louis somehow end up winning, well. It’s a mystery. 

All five of them end up sprawled back in the booth, picking at one last humongous order of nachos that Harry had insisted on getting. It’s a kind of mutual, blissed out state of beer and food. Somehow, Louis ends up sitting next to Harry again.

Louis thinks that he likes Harry being here. A happy, hazy feeling settles in his bones. Through the alcohol-induced fog, there’s something familiar about this situation that he can’t pinpoint, something that reminds him of college. A feeling that he hasn’t experienced since college.

He draws out, “This remind you of uni a bit, Zayn?”

Zayn’s draped over Liam with an unlit cigarette in his hand. Louis can tell he’s contemplating whether to light it or not, despite the no-smoking policy inside.

“You mean the nights we passed out in our flat, drunk off our asses?” Zayn replies. “That’s the only thing we used to do, anyway.”

Louis laughs, remembering all the times they’d downed cans of beer until they both ended up doing extremely stupid shit. “No, not really,” he admits. That wasn’t exactly the memory he was going for, he realizes. But now that they’re on the topic, fond recollections of drunk university adventures come to mind. “Remember that time we decided to put a bunch of chairs on the roof?”

“Do I ever,” Liam says, snorting, and turns to Harry and Niall. “These two dumbasses thought it would be a good idea to put chairs on our frat roof once. I’m telling you, it was not a good idea.”

“It was a _great_ idea,” Louis slurs. It was. Was it?

“It wasn’t,” Liam says, shaking his head in amusement. “Louis fell into a bush and we couldn’t find him till morning.”

Oh, yeah. Louis remembers now. He also distinctly remembers peeing in that same bush an hour before he fell into it. Not his greatest moment. 

“That was fucking hilarious,” Zayn crows, lighting the cigarette. “Fucking hilarious.” Immediately, a waiter comes by their table. He must have been eyeing them suspiciously in anticipation.

“Sir,” the waiter says. “You can’t do that here.” 

“Okay,” Zayn says, not fazed. “I’ll leave, then.” He gets up and walks toward the door. 

“We’re all leaving!” Niall shouts, a proclamation, and slaps several fifties down before following Zayn.

“Um,” Louis says, staring at the bills on the table. He looks at Harry. “Um.”

“Just pay him back later,” Harry says, guiding Louis with his elbow toward the door. “Thank you,” he calls out to the waiter, and then they’re outside. 

They linger outside the bar for a few minutes, before Zayn stubs out his cigarette and claims that he’s tired. Wherever Zayn goes, Liam goes, too. They both call out a goodbye, walking towards the direction of their apartment, situated a few blocks away.

“I guess we’ll head home too,” Harry says, turning toward Louis. Niall, Louis notices, is a few feet away, staring intently into the sky. Louis doesn’t really know why, because all he can see are dark clouds. 

Louis nods. “Oh yeah,” he recalls. “You’re probably exhausted, huh? Almost didn’t come out tonight.”

Harry scratches his head, pausing for a second. “I wasn’t actually tired,” he finally says. It comes out quiet, disguised amongst the sounds of the street. 

“What?” Louis cranes his head to hear properly. 

“Nothing,” Harry says, giving Louis a hug. “I’ll see you Monday, yeah?” 

Louis nods, the smell of strawberry lingering as Harry pulls away. “Monday,” he affirms, and waves goodbye as they walk away. Niall seems to be jabbing at Harry’s side, laughing at him about something. Harry ducks his head, looking sheepish.

Louis allows himself to stare at them for a moment, before he turns around and walks home.


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: this fic does not reflect on any of louis' opinions on love island; i wrote it before the tweet. i am aware that louis no longer watches the show and advocates against it.

_i am thinking it's a sign_  
_that the freckles in our eyes are mirror images_  
_and when we kiss they're perfectly aligned_

the postal service, "such great heights"

———————

It all starts when Louis discovers that Tom’s out of town. After glancing into his office and noticing that it’s empty, Louis finds himself gearing toward Harry’s office. 

It’s perfect timing, because Louis finds Harry shuffling out of his office with a mug in his hand, presumably headed towards the break room.

“Harry,” Louis calls, stepping to a halt.

“Louis,” Harry says, expression confused. Louis imagines how he probably looks, panting a little, a determined look in his eyes. “Are you alright?”

“I’ve got news for you, Harry,” Louis declares, raising his eyebrows. 

Harry’s eyes shift to the left, confusion probably mounting, no doubt wondering what news could possibly be relevant to him that Louis could deliver. “Okay,” he drawls out slowly. 

Leaning forward, Louis brings his voice down to a whisper. “Tom is out of town.”

It takes a second, but Harry’s eyes light up, despite the fact that this news is not _that_ exciting. Louis is glad that he’s managed to convince someone to buy into his theatrics.

No one pays any attention to them as they sneak into Tom’s office, except for the new employees. By now, the whole office all knows him well enough to not pay attention to any hijinks he pulls. 

After unplugging Tom’s kettle, Louis cradles it to his chest like a baby as they dash back to his office. They haven’t taken Tom’s tea, because that’s a level of burglary that’s too much, even for Louis. Instead, Harry offers up his healthy green tea, claiming that it’s good because it’s from Japan. Louis doesn’t really drink green tea, but he takes a tea bag anyway. 

Harry sits on his desk, feet kicking back and forth as Louis waits for the water to boil. 

“Hey,” Louis hears himself saying. “You’re on your lunch break, right?” Harry nods, eyes big and bright.

And that’s how Louis ends up inviting Harry to join him on his lunch break, because what kind of colleague would Louis be if he had left his new coworker alone, having to fend for himself in the throes of his new workplace? He’s a knight in shining armor, basically. 

Never mind that Louis’ never invited anyone else to eat with him in his office before. Details, technicalities, whatever. He’s trying to be a good person, okay? 

But, Louis will admit that he enjoys Harry’s company. They’ve got a similar sense of humour, and similar taste in movies. Harry is funny, in the kind of lame way. Louis can’t help laughing at his jokes anyway. 

That is, until Harry tells him a joke about a big hunk of nacho cheese escaping from the nacho cheese factory. It’s not very good. Maybe Louis regrets his decision. He tells Harry as much.

“It _is_ good, Louis,” Harry says, chortling. "He’s saying ‘it’s _nacho cheese’_ when the random guy tries to take it, because it’s like ‘not your cheese’. Get it?”

“I get it,” Louis says dryly, but he can’t help but be amused at Harry’s own amusement. He feels his lips turn into a smile, anyway. “And I’m telling you, Harry. It’s bad.”

“It’s funny,” Harry argues, and Louis doesn’t know what kind of humour Harry has that would deem that joke funny. 

For the next hour, Louis learns multiple things about Harry, like how he really likes Jamaica, how he has an older sister that is cooler than he is, how he sings at open mics when he’s drunk enough. They come out in snippets of information relevant to conversation, and yet, Louis finds himself wanting to learn more every time he discovers something new about Harry. Finds himself wanting to know other things, like _what is your favourite karaoke song_ or _why are all your jokes so bad and_ _why do I still want to hear more of them_ or _do you have a soulmate I mean of course you have a soulmate we all have one but I mean are you dating your soulmate. And I just want to know because you know just because._

Of course, Louis doesn’t ask these questions. Instead, he tells Harry a bit about himself, like how his sisters tend to spam the family group chat with dog memes, or how he can only play two songs on the piano.

“You should play the piano for me sometime,” Harry suggests, taking a lettuce wrap out of his container. Louis has never eaten a lettuce wrap before. 

“I suck,” Louis says. “Did you forget that I can literally only play two songs?”

Harry takes a bite of his wrap, chewing thoughtfully. “I was in a band, once,” he admits. “When I was a teenager.”

“What kind of music did you guys play?” Louis asks, picking at his rice bowl. 

Harry ponders a bit. “We did a lot of covers,” he remembers. “A lot of music from The Script.”

“I saw The Script live once,” Louis tells him, eager to contribute this bit of information to their conversation. “They were really good live.”

“Oh, me too,” Harry says brightly. “I saw them in Manchester, though.”

Manchester. Louis lifts his head from his rice bowl. “You did? When?”

A look of concentrated thoughtfulness passes over Harry’s face. “2009, I think? I was, like, fifteen.”

Harry saw The Script in 2009. Louis puts down his fork in shock.

“I saw them in 2009. In Manchester.” 

Harry’s mouth parts incredulously. “No way.”

“Yes way,” Louis says, and there’s a moment where they’re both grinning at each other in amazement, processing this bit of information between them. “Weird, huh?” 

“Meant to be, I guess,” Harry says. It’s a casual statement, but Louis finds himself catching his breath while Harry rambles on. “They were sick, though, right? That performance they did of ‘For the First Time’ —”

“Was fucking phenomenal,” Louis cuts in, nodding. He remembers his 17-year old self on the edge of his seat, on the verge of tears. “Almost peed myself.”

“So good,” Harry says. There’s a kind of charged, excited energy in the air, fuelled by their mutual experience. 

Huh. What are the odds. 

“What other music do you listen to?” Louis asks, spurring Harry to launch into a full on monologue about how he’s discovered Celtic music recently. Louis sits back and finishes his rice bowl, listening. He doesn’t mind. 

———————

As the summer project gets into full swing, Louis starts to feel the effects of the workload. His weeks now consist of jam-packed days involving the creation of design layouts, looking over mock ups for clients, tracking how his team’s doing. It’s busy, but it’s satisfying, and Louis revels in it. 

On Wednesday, Louis is so engrossed in his work that he doesn’t even notice that his sister has been trying to reach him. It’s not until he pushes open the door to his apartment that he sees the three missed calls in a row from Lottie. Frowning, he calls her back.

“Lotts,” he begins. Before he can utter _why did you call me three times are you okay are you alive,_ she interrupts him. 

“I matched with someone today,” she rushes out, and Louis stops. 

“Lottie,” he stammers, unable to form words. “That’s, that’s amazing. How did it happen? What’s their name?” He takes a seat at the coffee table, preparing for the whole spiel about to unravel. 

For the next half hour, Lottie recounts her encounter in the park which she had bumped into Austin, a fitness trainer who was walking his dog and wanted to know the time. 

“I felt it, Lou,” Lottie says, her voice thick with emotion. “I know it feels different for everyone, but. I felt a current through my body when I looked at him. We just stared at each other for a good moment until we realized our eye colours were changing. It’s just... crazy. Crazy,” she repeats.

“Wow.” As the oldest sister of the bunch, Lottie had been patiently waiting for her turn until she found her soulmate. He knows how much she’s been anticipating this moment. 

“Was it like that for you, Louis?” He hears her asking quietly. 

Louis rests his elbows on the edge of the sofa. “Yeah,” he says, voice coming out soft. “It was.”

Lottie makes a humming noise, one that Louis recognizes as sympathy. There’s a moment of silence, before she asks, “What do you remember about him?” 

Her voice is gentle, understanding. It’s not like Louis entirely shies away from this topic. But it’s not like he brings it up either, since this is the first time Lottie has ever managed to ask that question. It’s just not the easiest thing to explain to someone who doesn’t understand. Louis looks out the window, at the people walking on the street, the lights changing from red to green. 

From his foggy memory, it’s always been hard to remember his soulmate’s face, shielded from the light in the dark bathroom. No matter how hard he tries. 

“Not much,” Louis says, trying to sound lighthearted. “He does yoga,” he supplies. “Has a butterfly tattoo. Probably every hipster in existence,” he jokes. 

“You did always like those hipsters,” Lottie remarks, a hint of teasing in her tone. “The ones that drink coffee and are pretentious about literature and stuff.”

In Louis’ defense, he was seventeen. “Okay, I was a teenage boy,” Louis tells her. “George wrote too much sad poetry. No thank you.” Lottie laughs, respectfully dropping the topic. 

Louis rests his head on a pillow. “So, when can I meet you and Austin? You should come visit me in Manhattan.”

With an enthusiastic reply, Lottie promises to visit him sometime soon. Louis ends the call with a smile, joy bubbling in his chest. 

He’s happy she’s found someone. He really is. 

And hey, at least one of them did. 

———————

The next day, Dan _still_ hasn’t finished the fucking website. Louis is in the middle of an aneurysm when there’s a knock on his door. 

“Come the fuck in,” he yells. With a delay, he realizes that he could be yelling at his boss. Maybe that was a bad idea. 

A brown-haired head pokes in, and it’s not his boss. It’s Harry. 

“You alright?” Harry voices tentatively, probably because Louis’ got his head in both his hands. A very not alright position. 

“I am having an aneurysm,” Louis informs him. 

Harry frowns. “I’m pretty sure an aneurysm involves being in the ER and not in this building.”

Louis removes his head from his hands wearily. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re here, Styles. Take me away.” He throws his hands in the air for emphasis. 

Harry grins, shoving his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing a pair of beige trousers that, Louis will admit, makes his thighs look really great. He quickly averts his eyes. 

“I was thinking,” Harry muses, “Of checking out that Chinese place across the street. Do you want to come?”

It’s an invitation out to lunch. An invitation to Louis, probably because Harry doesn’t have any other friends in the office. Or does he? Louis is pretty sure that he’s heard Harry ask for a name every time he talks to somebody. He should know everyone by now. 

Nevertheless, Louis doesn’t really go out to lunch with others. He usually prefers to stay in his office. However, it’s not an unappealing offer. Maybe he should. It might stop him from wanting to whack Dan in the face. 

The thing is, Louis doesn’t remember ever walking into a Chinese place across the street. He tips his head in confusion, frowning. “What Chinese place?”

“Um.” Harry pauses, his forehead creasing. “The one with the noodle picture on the front. I don’t know the name because it’s in Chinese.”

Ah. That place. “I think I know what you’re talking about,” Louis says. “I’ve never been there before.”

“Oh.” Harry blinks, and something in Louis’ voice must have sounded aversive, because he says, “We don’t have to go.”

“No,” Louis says quickly, feeling horrible for crushing Harry’s Chinese food hopes and dreams. “We can go.” 

“Oh,” Harry repeats. “Well, we can go somewhere else.”

This is terrible. “I like Chinese food,” Louis says. He nods vigorously for emphasis. It must be convincing enough, because Harry’s face blooms into a smile.

“Okay,” Harry says. 

———————

It turns out that the Chinese restaurant is a hole-in-the-wall type establishment, one where the entire menu is written in Chinese. Louis knew there was a reason why he had never bothered to step inside. 

After watching Harry squint at the menu for a whole ten seconds — as if squinting would suddenly grant him the power to understand Chinese — the owner takes mercy on them and starts pointing at the pictures on the menu. It’s through these communicative gestures that Louis understands that they were to just order by pointing.

So Louis points at a random rice dish, while Harry points at some soup noodle thing. Whoever said language is a barrier was wrong. Even though Louis isn’t really sure what he’s eating right now.

“Ten,” Harry says, twirling his rice noodles around his chopsticks like spaghetti. 

“Hm?” Louis replies, his words jumbled around a mouthful of rice, and something that looks like fungus. 

“Ten,” Harry repeats, jutting his head toward the window. “That’s ten red cars we’ve seen in the past fifteen minutes.”

“Do you think that the number of red cars seem more prominent because of their colour?” Louis asks, poking around his rice.

Harry chews thoughtfully, a dribble of soup on his chin. “Probably. They stick out like a sore thumb.” He takes another slurp of his noodle soup. 

One thing about Harry, Louis has noticed, is that he tends to take every bite of food with his tongue out. It seems as if he is physically unable to eat unless his tongue touches the food first. On the one hand, it’s charming. On the other hand, Louis will admit, it’s distracting. He does not need to see Harry’s tongue every ten seconds, thank you very much. So Louis looks away. He looks at anything but at Harry’s tongue. 

But maybe it’s too obvious. Maybe Harry will be able to tell that he’s purposely avoiding looking at his tongue. Maybe if he addresses the situation, it would seem less obvious. 

“You eat like a frog,” Louis blurts out. 

Harry freezes, noodles halfway to his mouth, tongue out. He retracts it. “What?” 

Louis gestures with his fork, given to him earlier because he doesn’t know how to use chopsticks. “Just,” he says. “No one eats like that.”

Harry blinks. “Like what?”

Okay, maybe bringing the subject up is making it worse. He curses his own brain for being stupid. He’s floundering.

“You stick your tongue out at every bite,” Louis says, trying to sound casual. As if he was just merely observing. Because he was. Merely observing. 

“Oh.” Harry shrugs, a dimple appearing next to his smile. “Yeah. I do.”

Harry gives no further explanation to an action that Louis, for some reason, realizes he was waiting for an explanation for. Louis catches himself being slightly frustrated, before wondering why he cares so much.

 _Maybe it’s because you’re attracted to him,_ his brain supplies.

 _Shut up,_ he tells his brain. _I can hang out with my cute colleague and be normal at the same time._ Although he’s not sure if he could consider his actions normal. Who tells their coworker they eat like a frog? 

Harry takes another bite. This time, Louis excuses himself to go to the bathroom. 

———————

Apparently their last pub outing was extremely successful, because the next thing Louis knows, Liam’s started a group chat called _boys in da pub_ , and they’re out for drinks on Friday, again. 

It’s a nice change of pace. For the past few years it’s just been Louis, Liam and Zayn, with Nick occasionally tagging along. Even though Louis loves his boys, it’s exciting to have a new dynamic. Plus, there’s only so much third wheeling he can do in his life. 

To Louis’ surprise, they all get together quite well. Seamlessly, in fact. Niall’s taken the liberty of ordering shots for them without being asked, and they all throw one back, settling into a kind of familiar ease. Louis shares an order of wings with Liam and Harry, and laughs when Harry somehow gets buffalo sauce in his hair. Harry, in turn, scowls and wipes it on Louis’ nose. They’ve gotten to that stage of their friendship, it seems. 

As Louis dabs at his nose with a napkin, he feels Zayn eyeing him curiously. He doesn’t look up, avoiding eye contact at all costs. Zayn knows nothing.

After a few hours at the pub, they relocate to Zayn and Liam’s apartment nearby, finding themselves in front of the TV. Liam goes to put on Black Mirror, because technological horror is always a good idea. Louis takes it upon himself to prepare popcorn in the kitchen. 

“Hey,” he hears a voice behind him, and it’s Zayn, leaning against a counter. Why Zayn has to pull that model stance when he’s in his own apartment, Louis will never know. 

“Stop posing,” Louis replies, tugging open a bag of popcorn. He’s glad they keep the kind with extra butter. 

“I’m not posing,” Zayn lies, straightening up. He sidles up to Louis, wordlessly playing with a dish towel before he speaks. “Does Harry have a partner?” 

Taking in a breath, Louis says lightly, “You looking to dump Liam, babe? Because I don’t think Harry’s your type.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

Louis doesn’t say, _why are you asking, then,_ because he doesn’t want Zayn to say it. There’s a disadvantage to having your best friend know you too well. Instead, he shrugs, keeping his eyes on the popcorn. “I don’t know.”

Thankfully, Zayn doesn’t say anything else, and perhaps that’s the advantage of having a best friend, someone who knows not to push things when it’s not the time. “You need help with that?” He thrusts his chin toward the remaining bags of popcorn. 

“I know how to open a popcorn bag, thank you very much,” Louis sniffs. “But since this is your house, you should be the one doing it.”

“I’m also the one opening my house,” Zayn says dryly. “So you should be grateful.”

Louis presses a fat kiss to Zayn’s head, one that Zayn motionlessly accepts. “Love you, Zaynie,” Louis sings, grabbing a pack of beer and floating out of the kitchen.

“Styles,” Louis announces, upon entering the living room. Harry lifts up his head. “Catch.” Louis tosses a can. 

Harry accepts the beer, and pats the seat next to him. “Come sit.” Louis obliges, placing the pack of beer on the coffee table. 

“How come you didn’t offer me a beer, Louis?” Niall says from his seat on the floor. “I’m hurt.”

“The beer is in front of your lazy arse,” Harry says cheerily, taking a swig. “You can get it yourself.”

“I hate you both,” Niall declares. 

Two minutes later, Zayn returns with the popcorn. Within five minutes into the show, though, it’s clear that nobody’s really watching. Instead, they’re making idle commentary while roasting Zayn’s polka dot socks, much to his chagrin. Louis makes a comment that causes Harry to laugh so hard that he accidentally spews beer into Liam’s hair, and proceeds to frantically dab Liam’s hair with paper towels.

Louis tries not to be too endeared about it. 

———————

The first two lunches must have been a catalyst. Harry begins to drop by Louis’ office during his lunch breaks, and somehow, it becomes routine. Now Harry’s appearing in his office every lunch break at 12 PM on the dot with a salad in hand, or sometimes a salad wrap. Sometimes he’ll arrive with _two_ bowls of salad. Louis doesn’t know why Harry enjoys salads so much. They’re just leaves. 

Nevertheless, they spend the hour together, debating over whether cotton pajamas are more comfortable than fuzzy pajamas, or if Chris Evans is hotter than Chris Pratt. The last topic may or may not have been deliberately instigated by Louis, only because he needed to confirm whether Harry was interested in men. 

“Chris Pratt can take me against a wall,” Harry had declared at one point during the conversation, causing Louis to very nearly choke on his taco in response. 

So that pretty much confirmed it. Louis doesn’t feel like that comment would have crossed the mind of a man that is completely straight. And if anyone asks Louis why he feels a need to know about Harry’s sexuality, well. He just wants to know if Harry is gay, too. So he can add Harry to his Gay Friends list. Something like that. 

It’s nice, though. It’s nice, because surprisingly, they get along. Really well, in fact. Around Harry, Louis feels at ease. It’s not often that he meets somebody who seems to understand him so well, who seems to always know what Louis is saying without him having to explain it a second time. And with that, Louis finds himself looking forward to lunch more and more everyday. 

On the fifth day of having lunch together, Harry walks in a few minutes later than usual. His tardiness is explained by the steaming mug of coffee he’s got in one hand. Louis knows how it gets with those coffee lines at lunch; it’s gotten to the point where everyone needs to fight to get their mid-day fuel. 

“Hi,” Harry greets him cheerfully. He perches on Louis’ desk, right in front of him, before placing something beside his laptop. Louis does not know why Harry keeps choosing the desk. There is a perfectly good chair in the corner. Harry, Louis realizes, is like a fucking cat. 

Peering at the object Harry’s placed before him, Louis realizes it’s a coffee pod. He looks up at Harry in confusion. “Why’d you bring me a coffee pod?” 

Harry takes two bananas out of his paper bag before responding. “It was the last one in the break room.”

Louis’ eyebrows furrow at the unusual occurrence. The coffee pods are usually restocked every day. “Huh,” he muses aloud. “This is the first time we’ve ever run out of coffee pods.”

Harry shakes his head, his quiff bobbing. “No, I mean.” His eyes are fixed on his banana as he peels the sticker off. “It was the last one of its kind in the bowl.”

Puzzled, Louis takes a closer look at what Harry’s brought him.

Harry has saved him the last French Vanilla coffee pod.

He looks up from the blue pod and at Harry, who is running his hand through his hair, now looking unsure. “I thought you might want it. You seem to drink it often, so.”

Louis doesn’t tell Harry he’s only drank it twice. He also doesn’t tell Harry that he has only drank French Vanilla on the days that Harry happened to be there. “No, thank you, Harry,” he says, feeling a flush of emotion he can’t quite identify. 

A smile blooms on Harry’s face. Fuck. “You’re welcome,” he says. Louis can’t help but return the smile, before hastily turning to his lunch. 

It’s just a coffee pod. It’s just a coffee pod, and yet, for some reason Louis can’t help but think, _this is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me_. Actually, he’s sure that people have done nicer things for him. Liam assembled a bookshelf for him once. But still. He doesn’t know what to make of it. 

“I tried this new cereal yesterday,” Louis says quickly, in an attempt to blot out his own thoughts.

Despite the confusion on Harry’s face, he nods, prompting Louis to continue. “Okay?”

“It was pretty good,” Louis babbles. Was it actually good? He doesn’t remember. He just remembers picking it up because it was on sale. 

At least Harry looks somewhat intrigued. “Oh. Cool,” he says. “What kind was it?”

Fuck. Louis wasn’t prepared to actually talk about cereal. “Um,” he says. He tries hard to remember. Maybe if he scrunches his face up he’ll look like he’s concentrating. 

Thankfully, Harry seems to take Louis’ pause as an invitation to speak. “I tried this cereal recently, too,” he adds. “I’ve never been much of a cereal person, but this one is really good.”

What a relief. Louis stops scrunching his face. “Oh,” he says, trying to inject as much enthusiasm in his voice as possible. “Why don’t you like cereal?” 

Louis doesn’t know how they got onto this topic of whether or not they like cereal or not. He feels ridiculous. Harry, thank God, seems to be taking it all in stride. 

“Most cereal is just so processed and sugary, you know? No one should have that much sugar to start their day.”

“Well,” Louis says, waving a finger at him. “That’s certainly not what people say when they see me in the morning.”

“You saying that you’re sweet, Louis?” Harry asks, challenging, and Louis likes this about Harry, how Harry can be a little shit sometimes. “I beg to differ.”

“I take offence to that, Harold,” Louis says in disdain. “I am sweeter than your bananas.” Hm. He’s aware of how bad it sounds the moment it comes out of his mouth.

A large grin grows on Harry’s face. “You’re sweeter than my bananas,” he repeats.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” Louis declares cheerily. “So you’re only going to eat two bananas for lunch, then?” 

“Bananas are good for you,” Harry states, and starts to unpeel one from the bottom. According to Harry, that’s how monkeys do it, or something. 

Louis stares at the beef burrito he bought for lunch, wondering if he looks like an unhealthy slob in comparison. Oh well. If Harry judges him, he’s not a true friend.

Friends. They’re just friends. It’s easy to be friends. Right? Friends totally eat lunch together every day at work. Yeah. 

In the midst of it all, Louis hadn’t realized how much he’d been thinking about Harry until he found himself looking at a bunch of apples at the supermarket. Harry likes apples. He knows this because of that one time Harry listed his favourite fruits in order, and apples were right there, in second place, behind bananas. Then he realized how stupid he was being, because, like, _everyone_ likes apples. The fact that Louis has attributed apples to Harry only means that Harry has sufficiently gotten inside his head. 

The knowledge and acceptance of this fact is unfamiliar territory for Louis. In the past few years, Louis had become used to casual flings, even casual relationships at best. Being with Raymond was a casual relationship. He knew he didn’t love Raymond, and he knew Raymond didn’t love him. It was simple that way, and he had enjoyed their time together. 

Louis thinks about how Harry smiles at him. He thinks about Harry’s bright, joyous laughter after Louis says something. 

He thinks about his own soulmate. Someone possibly out there looking for him. 

He thinks about Harry’s soulmate. For some reason, an uneasy feeling pulls at him. 

Is Harry even taken? Louis realizes he still has no idea about this bit of information. But then again, if Harry had a partner, surely it would have come up by now, wouldn’t it? 

Louis doesn’t know. But maybe he doesn’t need to know. Maybe it’s none of his business. Because they can just be friends. It’s easier that way, easier for everyone. This is fine. 

The sound of Harry saying something brings Louis out of his own thoughts, and oh, Harry is still talking about bananas. Louis hopes that his thoughts don’t show on his face, and makes a clever joke about bananas in an attempt to bring himself back into the conversation. Somehow, the topic of bananas veers off to connect to the fact that they both watch Love Island. This is it. Louis has found solidarity.

“It’s such a shit show,” Louis tells Harry. There may or may not be badly disguised excitement in his voice. 

“It is really shit,” Harry agrees, nodding vigorously, because that’s what people do when they watch Love Island. They eagerly bond over how shitty it is. 

“I’ve gotta say, though,” Louis muses. “The guys this season aren’t that hot.”

“Are you joking?” Harry says, slight indignation in his tone. “Michael has got my vote. He’s got my vote.”

“This isn’t a presidential election, Harry.”

Harry shrugs, nonchalant. “He’s still got my vote.”

Louis leans back in his chair. “Do you watch every night?” he asks, and it’s like they’re competing to see who’s the bigger Love Island fan. 

Harry shakes his head. “Don’t have the time to. Need to catch up on the last three episodes.”

“You should come over,” Louis blurts out. “We can have a marathon.” 

He’s not sure why he’s suggesting this. He’s well caught up on the last three episodes. But the invite is out, and Harry is nodding. 

“You’re on,” Harry says, and that’s that. 

———————

At the end of their train ride, it occurs to Louis that, one, this is Harry’s first time coming over, and two, his apartment is not currently fit to have guests. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t put away his laundry from a week ago, and it’s just there, in a basket in front of his bedroom door. He should probably be concerned about this. 

However, Harry doesn’t bat an eye at Louis’ cluttered apartment. He plops down on Louis’ sofa comfortably, and easily pushes aside an empty pizza box with his foot. Okay, then. 

“Shall we order in?” Louis suggests, taking a seat next to him. “There’s a great sushi place nearby.”

Angling his head toward Louis, Harry gives a casual thumbs up. Sushi it is. 

Louis orders two California rolls. Harry orders seared salmon nigiri, ikura nigiri and something called tako sashimi. The latter looks like a slimy purple slab. 

“What the fuck is that?” Louis says, staring at the circles on the sushi. He’s sprawled out comfortably on his couch, socks off. It is his own house, after all. 

Harry slurps a piece into his mouth. “They’re tentacles,” he says, chewing. 

Louis blinks. “Tentacles?” he asks, staring at the purple _thing_ that’s about to disappear into Harry’s mouth. He thinks he knows what it is now, and _God_ , does he wish he had never asked.

“It’s octopus,” Harry explains, lifting up another piece with his chopsticks. He pushes it toward Louis’ mouth. “Eat it.”

Grimacing, Louis backs away. “I will not fucking eat your octopus, Harry. That’s gross.”

“Octopussy,” Harry answers, raising his eyebrows mischievously, and Louis shakes his head. He is dealing with a teenager. 

“I won’t eat your octopussy either, Harry. One, I’m a fucking gentleman. Two, women are an acquired taste, and they’re not the flavour I want.”

“Oh my God,” Harry says, choking on his laughter. “Why did you describe it like that.”

Louis shrugs. “I’m a poetic man.” He stretches his legs out, and his need for leg room makes him place his feet on Harry’s thigh, seeking space. Harry doesn’t seem to mind, settling back easily as they face the screen.

Maybe it’s the comfort of his own living room, or the fact that Harry just doesn’t seem to care about personal space, but Louis ends up curled against Harry, his legs still in Harry’s lap. He’s pretty sure his eyes are glazing over. 

As it turns out, Harry is a wonderful body pillow, one that doesn’t complain about Louis’ hair in his face or the weight of his head on his shoulder. There’s something about it all that makes Louis strangely comfortable. So he stays. 

Love Island really is a rubbish show. It’s so bad that it’s good, but it makes Louis question the morality of how such a show is even able to exist on television. As the contestants douse themselves in soapy water to slip down a slide, Louis can’t help but shake his head. 

“God.” On the screen, the contestants have started picking people to kiss. “This is the epitome of trash TV.”

“Trash,” Harry drawls out with an exaggerated American accent.

“Traaaash,” Louis repeats, summoning his inner surfer. “Trash.” He switches to a cowboy accent. 

There’s a pained look on Harry’s face as he laughs, face pinched. “Trash,” he says, gasping, “might be a nice name if it weren’t the definition of rubbish.”

Louis has no idea what goes through Harry’s brain. He knows he probably has a dismayed look on his face when he says, “You’re saying you would name your child Trash?”

Harry shrugs, lips quirked up in amusement. “Why not?”

“Trash Styles,” Louis tells him, and it sounds so fucking ridiculous that Harry begins to laugh again until he chokes. It’s not until Amber shows up on the screen complaining about something, that Louis realizes he’s just missed the last five minutes. 

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen into such a deep sleep until he’s being gently rocked awake. Upon coming to his senses, he blinks up at Harry and realizes that the glare of the TV is no longer shining on Harry’s face. The episodes must have ended. 

What time is it — nine? Ten? Regardless, any time is too early to wake up, and Louis’ eyes droop back down of their own accord. 

He hears a faint chuckle, before slowly, so slowly, he feels himself being maneuvered off of Harry’s shoulder and into a horizontal position on the sofa. Harry’s weight lifts off the sofa, the sound of footsteps pad away until they’re absent. Then it comes back a while later, and he feels something soft being draped over him. 

“Goodnight, Lou,” he hears a voice. It’s reassuring, like a fireplace during the winter. Most voices don’t sound like fireplaces in winter, do they? It’s warm. Louis feels warm. Louis allows himself to contentedly descend into slumber, just as he hears the faint shutting of the front door. 

———————

Louis wakes up to a blanket covering his body, the TV off. He checks the clock. It’s 11 PM. Fuck.

Then it occurs to him. Harry. 

Taking a frantic glance around the living room, Louis notes that Harry isn’t in the room. He must have left. He checks his phone.

_You fell asleep and I didn’t want to wake you up. Locked the door behind me xx_

Harry Styles might be an angel or some shit. Louis doesn’t know why he exists. 

_Thanks mate you’re the best_

The next text comes quickly.

_I also took a picture of you drooling in your sleep._

Oh no. Louis’ mouth drops open. That _bastard._

_Don’t worry it’s kind of cute :) And I won’t blackmail you with it! Maybe._

_Scratch that,_ Louis thinks as he groans, throwing himself into the sofa. Harry Styles might be the embodiment of hell.

———————

Work piles up, as it inevitably does. And the thing is, being an art director of a decent marketing firm has its challenges. One of those challenges is organizing folders. So much so, that one afternoon, Louis opts to skip his lunch break in order to fix this monstrosity of a folder system.

“Is this really a priority?” Harry says from his seat on the desk. Although Louis isn’t the best lunch company today, Harry had still opted to stay. Louis doesn’t want to think about what that might mean. “It’s to keep _you_ company,” Harry had said, before booping Louis on the nose. Louis has never had his nose booped before. 

“Yes,” Louis mutters. “It’s the folder drive we all have, and it has been unorganized for years. It’s just gotten worse as files accumulated, and nobody can access these efficiently.”

He hears the crunch of an apple. “I can help,” Harry offers, chewing wetly. 

Looking up wearily, Louis smiles. “Bless you and your kind soul,” he says. “Unfortunately, you won’t understand half the shit going on in here. The only reason why I understand it, young grasshopper, is because I have been here for years.” He gives Harry an appreciative pat on the knee.

At Louis’ response, a look that resembles something like slight disappointment and frustration manifests on Harry’s face. Louis doesn’t know why he feels the responsibility to make Harry feel better, but he does, so he quickly adds, “But while you’re here, I need you to help me in another important way.” He sounds like a schoolteacher trying to convince a child that _yes, cleaning the desks_ can _be_ fun _, Bobby!_

“What is it?” Harry says, taking another bite of apple, and Louis’ mind searches for a quick answer.

“Um,” he stalls, and hastily pulls up one of his computer windows. “I need you to look over this shot list,” he says, pulling up his detailed plan for each photo. Harry peers at his screen. It’s not a lie. He was going to show Harry his shot list anyway.

For a few minutes, Harry stares at the screen, brows furrowed with a concentrated expression. Finally, he pulls back. “It looks good,” Harry says, and hesitates. “But. Can I propose an idea?”

Louis leans forward in anticipation, waiting. Technically, Harry’s working under him, it’s Louis calling the shots — but there’s something that makes Louis eager to know what Harry thinks of his work, something that makes him value Harry’s critique and his ideas.

Drawing his lip in thoughtfully, Harry points at the a section labelled “close up” under _girl leaning against van_. “I think this scene would actually best be captured from a long shot.” 

“Okay.” Louis gives a prompting nod, encouraging Harry to continue.

“The reason for this is because it can really help draw out the whole gritty, yet mystical atmosphere of it, you know? To get the whole environment, so you understand what the subject is experiencing. You want to capture them into it.”

Louis hums, and Harry goes on to say, “But, I think this should be a close up as well. Because we are featuring the details of the lingerie, of her outfit. It would be great to have a focus of it, in juxtaposition to the dusty van. So, I’m thinking,” Harry says, looking at Louis, “that we should do details and long shots for each scene. Instead of just long shots.”

Details _and_ long shots. That would take a longer process. 

But Harry’s right. Louis thinks about it. 

“Okay,” Louis says, after a minute of pondering. “I trust your vision.”

As soon as he says it, it hits him that he really _does_ trust Harry. He’s entrusting someone else with his creative vision by including theirs within his. It’s a risk. But when Harry smiles, Louis notices that it doesn’t feel like that at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i included the script concert from 2009 in there. u know why? cuz harry & louis are soulmates irl (insert shrug emoji here)


	4. four

  
_you can be my destiny,_  
_you can mean that much to me._

yuck, "shook down"

———————

A few days later, Zayn drops by Louis’ office for no apparent reason, as he sometimes does. Zayn doesn’t run on any set schedule. The perks of being an artist, and all.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Louis says, eyes fixed on his laptop. He’s having trouble with his Outlook. He fucking hates Outlook. It glitches way too much for a so-called reliable service.

“I’m gonna leave soon,” Zayn says, sauntering into his office like he owns the place. He probably does. Louis is pretty sure that half of the office staff who have met Zayn are in love with him. “I was in the area and wanted to say hi.” He plops into a chair.

Louis looks at him. “Hi,” he acknowledges. He looks back down at his laptop. “You know every time you stop by, all the women in our office swoon, right? I think Maggie spilled her coffee last time you walked by her.”

Brushing the hair from his eyes, Zayn shrugs. “Yeah. What about the guys, though?”

Louis snickers, his fingers continuing to tap away. “They try not to look at you for too long.”

Zayn nods approvingly. “Nice.” His eyes flicker to the edge of Louis’ desk. “Why do you have a bunch of coffee pods stacked in a pyramid?”

Louis follows Zayn’s gaze. “Oh. Harry brings me coffee pods.” He returns to typing. 

For a moment, there’s silence. Louis glances up to see Zayn staring at him. “What?”

“Harry brings you coffee pods,” Zayn says, words slow. 

Louis squirms under Zayn’s inspecting stare. “Maybe.”

“Why can’t you get your own coffee pods?” Zayn continues, eyes narrowing.

Louis knew that he shouldn’t have brought it up. “I don’t know,” he huffs. “Ask Harry.” He freezes. “Actually. No. Don’t. Don’t ask Harry.”

“I’m gonna ask Harry,” Zayn says, rising from his chair and turning towards the door. “I’m gonna ask him right now.”

“No!” Louis shouts, and hopes that no one comes in to see if he’s dying. “No,” he repeats, lowering his voice. “Fuck off, Zayn, or I will tell Liam you pick your nose.”

It’s an arbitrary threat. One that’s empty, too, because Zayn shrugs. “We all pick our noses.”

Louis fixes him with a glare that probably doesn’t look as threatening as he thinks it does. “Don’t ask him.”

For a moment, Zayn only stares at him. “Fine,” he says finally, turning the doorknob to leave. “I’m not letting this go, though.”

“Don’t bother. Did you forget that Harry’s matched? He’s most likely taken.”

“ _Most likely._ You’re not taken,” Zayn points out. “Did you forget about my uncle Ben? Or Shawna from uni?”

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Louis shoots back, before Zayn can continue. “Like stare at yourself in the mirror?” 

“I don’t stare at myself in the mirror,” Zayn grumbles, opening the door. Louis is ninety percent sure Julia is lurking behind the door to say goodbye to him. 

“Bye, Zayn,” Louis calls. “Don’t come back!” 

Fuck Zayn. Louis slumps into his chair. 

A second later, a slightly flushed Julia pops her head in. “You alright?” she asks, but her head is turned towards Zayn’s direction. Louis’ visible frustration is clearly not of actual concern right now.

“Just peachy, Julia,” Louis tells her. He holds up his peach mug for extra conviction. Maybe he’s trying to convince himself. “Just peachy.”

———————

Not being back home in England has some disadvantages. One of them happens to be the inability to watch Love Island live on TV, anywhere, any place, but if anyone asks, Louis will deny, deny, deny. 

So it’s not like Louis would die if he didn’t rush home on time, tonight. He could just watch the taped version afterwards through some wonky link on Reddit. He hurries home anyway, because tonight’s episode is dramatic as hell, and he needs to know what happens to his favourite couple. He needs to know, now. 

He gets home ten minutes before the episode airs, which is plenty of time for him to microwave a frozen dinner and plop down with a beer. Adulting to the max.

Halfway through the episode and halfway through his bottle of beer, his phone starts to vibrate. On the screen, Molly-Mae and Yewande are engaged in heated conflict. This is not the best time. Maybe he can ignore it. 

He’s about to send the caller to voicemail when he sees that it’s Harry. Before his brain is registering the action, he finds his hand already reaching to accept the call.

“Are you watching this?” Harry says incredulously as Louis picks up.

“Am I fucking ever,” Louis says, relishing in the fact that he’s got someone to gossip with. “Poor Yewande. She deserves a chance.”

“What is that dress that she’s wearing though?” Harry’s voice conveys tones of both admiration and disgust. “That’s quite a print.”

“I’ll have you know, Harold, that every single piece of my underwear is in that print. So you better watch your mouth.”

“In that case, I’d love to borrow a pair,” Harry replies, and Louis tries not to choke on his own saliva at the thought of lending Harry his underwear. 

“You there?” Harry adds after a moment of silence. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis says, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just tripped over something. Left a book on the floor.” Louis can’t remember the last time he read a book. He does not have the patience or the time.

“I didn’t know you read,” Harry remarks, and maybe Louis really shouldn’t have mentioned books in front of someone like Harry, who obviously reads books. Harry is the kind of person who goes to plays for fun. Of course he would read books. 

Fortunately for Louis, he is an expert at fibbing. “I don’t, really,” he says. “Zayn left it at my house.”

“Oh. The robot book?”

Bless Zayn and his credible reputation as a reader. “Nah.” Louis had already lied; he can’t tell _another_ one, lest this lie ever comes back to bite him in the ass. “Another one.”

On his laptop screen, Molly-Mae laughs with Danny, and Louis becomes aware that his conversation with Harry has taken him away from what’s actually happening on the show. 

“Wait,” Louis says, interrupting Harry. “Why are Molly-Mae and Danny sitting together?”

There’s a pause, and Louis imagines Harry squinting his eyes at the screen in equal confusion. “I’m not sure. I wasn’t paying attention.” 

“We can’t have both of us not paying attention, Harry. Only one of us can slack off at a time. We need to take shifts.”

“Fine,” Harry says. “I’ll take the first shift.”

“Who died and made you king?”

“Napoleon,” Harry states. 

“You literally don’t know what Napoleon even did,” Louis challenges, despite the fact that Harry could quite possibly be a history major. He then realizes that he has no clue what Harry even majored in. “Harry. What did you major in?”

“Literature,” Harry affirms, not even thrown off by the sudden subject change. Huh. Literature. For some reason, Louis isn’t surprised. “How about you?”

They talk for the entire episode. It’s not until two hours later, when Harry hangs up, that Louis realizes he has no idea what the entire episode was about. 

———————

Louis knew that after the Coffee Pod Incident, Zayn would never let go of it. The thing about Zayn, Louis has learned over the past few years of friendship, is that he’s extremely nosy once provoked. 

The conversation had started out normal enough, just chatting about their days. On days where he’s decided to paint, Zayn tends to call Louis to keep him company. In hindsight, Louis should have known that Zayn would bring up the topic eventually. 

“So, have you found out, yet?” Zayn asks. His voice is muffled. He’s probably lighting a cigarette. 

Louis switches his phone to the other ear so he can dump cat food in Lucy’s bowl. He’s switched back to the old food in hopes that the cat vomit will cease. 

“Found out what?”

Zayn lets out an exhale, his sigh emitting an obnoxious noise through the phone line. “You know. Whether Harry’s single or not.”

Upon hearing the sound of cat food being poured into her bowl, Lucy slinks into the room. She gives a disheartened sniff and stalks away. 

“It’s either this one or the barf one,” Louis shouts at her. She looks at him in disdain. If cats could give the middle finger, Louis is sure that his cat would be doing it right now. 

“What?” Zayn asks. 

Louis shakes his head. “Nothing. Talking to my cat.”

Zayn makes a tutting sound. “You know, you should really be nicer to Lucy.”

“Why do you like her so much?” Louis whines, placing Lucy’s cat food back into the cupboard. “She gives me no love.”

“She gives me love. She likes to cuddle with me.” 

His cat is a fucking traitor. “Didn’t know you were attractive to the cat species too, Zayn.”

“I’m a pussy magnet,” Zayn says flatly. “Stop avoiding the topic.” The other thing about Zayn is that he is annoyingly persistent.

Louis huffs. “Why does this matter?”

“You like him,” Zayn says. “You look at him the way I look at Liam when he’s got his shirt off.”

Louis pointedly ignores Zayn’s first statement. “So you’re saying that you only like Liam when he’s half naked?”

“Hm. Interesting. So you’re not denying the fact that you like him,” Zayn observes casually. Who does Zayn think he is, a psychologist?

“Zayn,” Louis sighs. 

“Louis.” Zayn’s voice is soft but direct. “You can’t wait around for your soulmate forever, you know.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Louis mumbles. A nagging feeling pulls at him as soon as he says it. 

“Louis,” Zayn continues, with no intention of stopping just yet. “I’ve seen you interact with a lot of guys. I’ve seen you with Raymond. You’re not serious with them, and that’s fine. But I’ve never seen you with someone the way you are with Harry.”

Louis looks down at the table in front of him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Zayn says, “That you let go when you’re around him.”

 _You let go when you’re around him._ Louis is quiet for a moment, allowing Zayn’s words to sink in. 

“Think about it, okay?” Zayn says, voice kind. Louis nods, even though Zayn can’t see him. “Okay, I gotta go. I’ll text you later.” 

Zayn hangs up. Immediately, Louis falls onto his bed with a muffled scream. Fuck Zayn and his tendency to care about Louis. Fuck Zayn for being a decent, caring friend.

He tries not to think about it. He fails.

———————

Louis finds out a few days later. 

It’s not a Friday, but they’re all together, nonetheless, in Louis’ apartment. Something they had discovered was that Liam and Niall are Chelsea fans, while the rest of them are Manchester United fans. So when Louis had heard that Man U was playing Chelsea today, he had generously offered his place to settle the debate once and for all. It’s a very important occasion. 

However, the moment they arrived at Louis’ place, it had become abundantly clear that Liam and Zayn had created a mission of their own. Louis really hates his nosy friends. Hopefully, Harry and Niall view this hangout as more of an enthusiastic follow up to successful pub nights than for what it really is: Mission Uncover Harry’s Relationship Status. 

Or Operation MUHRS, as Liam had dubbed it, and proceeded to diligently insert it into every relevant text. Of course Liam would be the one to come up with such a stupid acronym. Louis is pretty sure that Liam had wanted to join the FBI, at some point. Or was that the Olympics? Same fucking thing. Either way, Louis has not been checking the group chat. Because it’s lame. 

Louis is scrounging for snacks in his kitchen cabinet when Liam comes up behind him and taps him on the shoulder. Maybe he should have gone grocery shopping yesterday. Maybe he should go grocery shopping in general, like a responsible adult.

“This is the plan,” Liam says, voice hushed as if they’re planning a heist. “We somehow find a way to bring up the topic of relationships. We ask Harry if he’s single.”

Louis raises his eyebrows doubtfully. “Are _you_ going to ask Harry?” Despite his well-natured intentions, Liam is as subtle as a horse on steroids. 

When Louis tells him this, Liam lets out an unhappy noise. “Hey,” Liam protests. “That is a very offensive comparison.”

“Sorry, Liam. I’m not here to please the world. Also, by the way,” Louis adds, “this is the worst plan.” There’s a bag of crisps in the back of the cabinet. Hopefully they’re not expired.

“It’s a great plan, because you won’t need to ask Harry yourself,” Liam says, like he’s part of making Louis’ executive decisions. 

“And that’s because I don’t need to.”

“You flirt with him,” Liam insists. Louis is glad his head is deep in the cabinet so Liam can’t see his face.

“No, I don’t,” Louis says, although the words are directed to the box of raisins next to his face. “It’s friendly banter.”

Liam looks unimpressed. “You show off around him.” 

Louis thinks about the obnoxious pool tricks. Okay, maybe he does. He hates how these two people know him so well. He needs new friends. 

Louis huffs indignantly, pulling the chips out. “Can you stop psychoanalyzing me?”

In response, Liam leans forward, inspecting Louis’ new find. “These chips are expired.”

“You’re expired,” Louis retorts. 

“Thankfully,” Liam says, blatantly ignoring Louis’ comment, “I knew this would happen. I came prepared.” From his bag, he pulls out five bags of popcorn. 

Louis stares at the abundance of popcorn on the counter. “Do you only have popcorn in your house?” 

Liam shrugs. “Zayn accidentally bought a box with 24 packs last year.”

Louis turns away from the popcorn, and towards Liam. “Thank you. And for the record,” he states, “I’m only thanking you for the popcorn. Not for Operation Whatever Whatever, which I am not involved with.” He saunters out of the kitchen.

“It’s Operation MUHRS!” Liam yells after him. 

“You do realize that adding ‘Operation’ to the name makes it ‘Operation Mission’, right?” Louis shouts back. He hears Liam sputter in response.

Anyway, Louis is not involved with this. He’s not even a part of it. Which doesn’t explain the uneasy feeling in his stomach at the potential results of tonight’s mission, or why Louis is ready to bolt into his room at any given moment. At least Zayn has been nominated with asking the question, because not only is Zayn more subtle than Liam, he is also the master at keeping a straight face. Must be because of his chiseled cheekbones, or something. Louis doesn’t know how any of this works. 

It also doesn’t explain why Louis chooses to plop down right next to Zayn despite the spacious seating in his living room. Zayn looks at Louis, taking up the remaining space in his loveseat, and then looks at the empty sofa next to him. 

“Liam was going to sit here,” he tells Louis. 

“Is Liam going to suffer for two hours without your leg against his leg?” Louis shoots back. “No. He’s not.” 

Louis is aware that Zayn is studying his face, head tilted and eyes narrowed. “You’re nervous,” he says, with a look of triumph on his face.

“I’m not nervous,” Louis replies. He tries to keep his face in a neutral expression, because he’s _not_ nervous. 

“Then why don’t you sit on the couch?” 

“Lucy peed on it.” Louis turns to his phone. He angles his phone away from Zayn, pretending to text. 

“Cats don’t pee on couches,” Zayn points out matter-of-factly, like this is a scientific fact. 

“You’re not a cat expert,” Louis says, without looking up. He continues to tap at the screen convincingly. “You don’t have a cat.” 

Even with his head down, Louis just _knows_ that Zayn is rolling his eyes in response.

But if anyone asks Louis if he’s sitting next to Zayn for emotional protection, he will deny it at all costs. If anyone asks Louis if he’s sitting with Zayn so that there’s no space for Harry, lest Louis has to look at him after he reveals he’s taken, he will also deny it at all costs. 

It’s all a little bit ridiculous, is what it is. He’s just going to treat this like a normal night. 

Louis’ wild thoughts are interrupted when Liam opens his apartment door, revealing Harry and Niall. Upon seeing Harry’s outfit, Louis’ thoughts erupt into even wilder thoughts. 

Okay. Louis is a hundred percent sure that Harry went home after work to change, because he’s here now, wearing a shirt with the top half unbuttoned. Are those birds on his chest? Louis is not breathing. 

The material makes it hard to see the other tattoos hidden on his body, but before Louis can look any closer, Harry’s waving at him, and Louis realizes that he should probably at least appear normal.

“Harry!” he exclaims, and it’s surprising how levelled his voice sounds. “Long time no see.”

Harry nods, a smile on his face. “Too long,” he says, checking his watch. “It’s been like, what? A whole two hours?”

From the corner of his eye, Louis can see Zayn sporting a smug smile. He pointedly tries not to look at him.

Fortunately, Niall speaks up before Zayn has the chance to make a teasing comment. “I like your apartment,” says Niall, glancing around the room. “Very cozy.”

“If you mean that Louis is a complete slob, you would be correct,” replies Liam, coming out of the kitchen with several bowls of popcorn. 

“Hey, at least he washed the dishes this time. You should have seen the sink two days ago,” Harry announces, grabbing a fistful of popcorn. 

Zayn raises an eyebrow at Louis, and, right. He may have neglected to tell him and Liam about the fact that Harry has, in fact, been to his apartment several times now, under the pretense of watching Love Island. 

“If you want to do the laundry for me, feel free,” Louis responds, and rises to get a popcorn bowl for himself and Zayn. He senses that Zayn is going to ask him for an explanation to Harry’s comment the minute he gets him alone. God, having a best friend like Zayn really _does_ suck sometimes.

“So! Drinks, anyone? Drinks?” Liam exclaims, a touch too enthusiastic, and Louis wants to face-palm himself for including Liam in the first place. Thank God there’s Zayn, who reads Louis’ panic and mouths something to Liam. Liam slinks back into his seat. 

Poor Liam. He has good intentions.

“I don’t really care about football, actually,” Zayn says, as the game begins.

“Too bad, Zayn,” Louis says, placing the bowl on the coffee table. “Because you’re already rooting for Manchester United.”

Zayn does not look impressed. “I only said Man U because you were tugging on my ear and forced me to choose one.”

Louis takes a seat and snuggles into Zayn, using his arm as a pillow. “I did no such thing.” 

It’s a fast-paced game. Chelsea leads in the first half with two points, leaving Louis to sulk and not bother to pay attention to the rest of the game. He’d rather pretend that his favourite team is not losing. Instead, he entertains himself by tossing popcorn at Niall’s mouth across the room. 

Niall is a professional Popcorn Catcher, it seems, judging by the way he’s able to catch almost every piece of popcorn. He’s twisting his head and leaning back and forward and Louis doesn’t know how he does it. 

“That’s a really impressive talent,” Liam remarks. “You should enter the popcorn Olympics.” 

“Thanks.” Niall smiles, a kernel stuck between his teeth. “I used to do this all the time in college.”

“He did,” Harry confirms, with a lift of his finger. “We spent so much time doing this instead of studying. It was terrible.”

“It was amazing,” Niall counters, grabbing another handful of popcorn. 

So Harry and Niall went to college together. Louis doesn’t know why he’s only finding out about this now. It makes sense, in hindsight, based upon how they moved to Manhattan together; they must have known each other for a while. 

“You’re sure to find someone like that,” Liam says. “Wooing them with your popcorn skills.” And here it begins, Louis thinks. Upon hearing where this conversation is headed, Louis pretends to be extremely engrossed in the popcorn bowl, picking at the kernels at the very bottom. 

Shaking his head, Niall continues to chew. “Nah, man. I’m pretty sure I don’t have a soulmate,” he says cheerily. “I’m okay with that.”

“What do you mean you’re pretty sure you don’t have a soulmate?” Liam says, leaning against the couch. 

“I mean I’m happy on my own. Always have been, always will be, so I probably don't have a soulmate,” Niall explains. “I think I'm one of those people who don't have their eyes matched to anyone in particular.”

“What about you, Harry?” Zayn asks, and okay. Operation MUHRS is officially a go. Louis does everything in his power to not seem interested. He keeps his head turned towards the TV. Even if he hasn’t been watching TV for the past twenty minutes. 

A nervous chuckle escapes Harry’s lips. “I’m, um. I’m not with anyone.” 

Liam’s brows furrow. “You’re matched,” he points out, mirroring Louis’ confusion, and Louis silently thanks Liam’s ability to ask intrusive questions when no one else will. 

Harry gives a light shrug, lips set in a line. “I’m one of those people that met their soulmate once and never found them again.” 

At that statement, Louis’ head jerks up, eyes snapping to Harry. 

Harry is like him. Harry lost his soulmate too. 

_Harry is single,_ his brain chants, against his will. Holy fuck. 

“Oh!” Zayn says, before Louis can utter a word. “Louis, too. Wow! What are the odds,” he exclaims, and it seems as if this is the extent of Zayn’s subtlety. 

This time, it’s Harry whipping his head to look at Louis, eyes wide. “You too?” 

Louis nods dumbly. “Yeah,” he breathes. _Yeah, me too._

Niall has a giant grin on his face, and pops several pieces of popcorn into his mouth. “It figures,” he muses, looking right into Louis’ eyes. “Always noticed ya had matched eyes, but you never mentioned a soulmate.” 

Louis notices Harry starting to fidget, hands playing with his rings. He’s looking at Louis, nervous eyes indicating that he wants to say something, but no words come out. 

Zayn, on the other hand, has been eagerly looking between Louis and Harry. When Zayn seems to realize that neither of them are going to continue the conversation, he butts in: “Louis is single.”

“Oh my God,” Louis hears himself saying in embarrassment. Fucking hell. Compared to Zayn, Liam is looking more and more subtle by the moment. 

He turns away, hoping his cheeks aren’t too red. Harry, on the other hand, has a smile on his face. Maybe that’s not a bad sign, he thinks, as he picks up his beer. 

Niall pelts a piece of popcorn at his head. 

———————

That night, sleeping is an impossible task. Louis tosses and turns a few times. When he rolls over to check his phone, he finds out that it’s three in the morning. Fuck.

Flopping onto his back, he stares at the ceiling, mind racing. For the first time, the mystery of his own soulmate isn’t the reason for a sleepless night. Instead, it’s Harry’s. 

So Harry’s not with anyone, then. He’s not with his soulmate, at all. His soulmate is lost, gone, never to be found again. 

Louis can’t help but wonder who Harry’s soulmate is. Wonders if Harry’s soulmate is out there looking for him, or if he’s given up. He doesn’t know which one is crazier, because he can’t imagine anybody giving up on Harry. Harry, with his stupid jokes and his intelligent mind and octopus limbs, with words that can charm a snake. Who could give up on someone like that? 

Harry’s single. He’s single too, and God, Louis doesn’t know what to do about that. Doesn’t even know if he _can_ do anything about it, because even Harry is single, it doesn’t mean they can be together. Doesn’t necessarily even mean that Harry would _want_ them to be together. Maybe he’s still waiting for his soulmate to reappear.

It had been manageable, even okay, when Will had left for his soulmate. When it came to Will’s soulmate, Louis had seen a light in his eyes that he hadn’t seen before. Even after a while, Louis had come to accept it. Will was better off with someone who matched him, and, well, it’s not like Louis would have been able to give him that. There was no bitterness left, because that was the way things had to be. 

But with Harry, for some reason, Louis doesn’t know if he’d be able to handle it. He doesn’t know why he feels this way, but he’s certain that if, one day, Harry met someone who could make him laugh louder than Louis ever could, he wouldn’t want to see that at all.

A buzz from his phone brings him out of his thoughts, and he looks over to see that it’s a notification from the group chat. From Harry.

Harry’s sent a cat meme. Which means that Harry is also awake at 3 AM.

Louis responds with a laughing emoji, even though the cat meme isn’t really that funny. A few seconds later, he gets a text.

_Why are you up?_

Louis pauses, fingers hovering above the keyboard. 

_can’t sleep,_ He writes back. It’s not false. It’s probably a better answer than _wallowing because of you._

The message bubble dances for half a minute before a message comes through. 

_Wanna hear a joke?_

It’s a very Harry response. Before he’s got a chance to reply, Harry’s already sent another message. 

_What do you call a bee that was born in the united states_

_I didn’t say yes to this request,_ Louis writes back. Harry sends him another message anyway. 

_…A USB_

_Hahahaha, get it?_

_Because US + bee._

_Why aren’t you responding? It’s a really good joke!_

_I know you’re there_

_Okay I’m sorry, please come back_

The mental image of Harry desperately trying to redeem himself may or may not give Louis a little bit of glee. He bites his lip to control a grin. 

_You killed half my brain cells ._

Harry’s typing.

_At least I saved the other half!_

Louis can’t help but laugh. It’s 3 AM, it’s late, and Louis is laughing after an overwhelming night. It’s kind of absurd. 

_That u did . Goodnight Harry,_ he writes. Tossing his phone onto a pillow, he flips onto his side.

He gets one minute of attempted shut-eye before he finds himself turning over and picking up his phone. Just to check. 

_Goodnight Louis :)))))) Sleep tight!!!_

Louis locks his phone and closes his eyes. Sleep, this time, comes easily.


	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello sorry i have actually never been to north carolina so sorry for any inaccuracies. enjoy the chapter!
> 
> content warning for recreational drug use.

_no place to stand, or set my feet_  
_just waiting for the ends to meet._

lights, "same sea"

———————

Louis doesn’t mean to put distance between him and Harry after Wednesday night’s revelation. Or, at least that’s what he tells himself. 

That’s what he’s telling himself when he ends up pulling a little back too soon when Harry hugs him on Friday, or when he doesn’t exactly look at Harry when he makes a flirty remark. He can’t. 

It’s an instinct, a protective reaction. And it’s just easier, is what it is. 

It’s something that Harry has likely noticed, because the physical contact has scaled down a little, the cheeky comments disappearing too. It’s not too awkward, because it’s not like they were even, like, _together_ in the first place, right? Despite all of this, Harry still stops by Louis’ office every day. That part hasn’t changed, at least, and that part, Louis can do. 

On this particular lunch break when Harry swings by, Louis isn’t having the greatest of days. He’s sat at his laptop, staring at his screen bleakly when Harry appears at his door with his lunch in hand.

Harry hasn’t even stepped into the room when he says, “What’s wrong?”

“What?” Louis says, instinctively defensive. “Nothing’s wrong. Why would you think something’s wrong?” He winces. Even he can hear how frazzled he sounds.

Harry hoists himself up onto the desk. “You’ve got that look on your face. You know, forehead wrinkled, head pushed forward.” He attempts to imitate Louis’ expression, which, frankly, makes Louis feel just a bit insulted.

But then again, he supposes that Harry isn’t necessarily _wrong_. Louis pulls his neck back. 

Sighing, Louis rubs a hand down his face. “We fired Dan. He was not competent in a lot of areas, and, well. I told Susanne.” Louis remembers the conversation with his boss, the solemn look on her face. Then the jitters throughout his body when he had left the office, wondering if he did the right thing. “She let him go. We just got an email.” He gestures wearily towards the screen. 

A moment passes where Harry’s just looking at him, not saying anything, before he says, “Louis, it’s not your fault,” like he _knows_ this is what Louis’ been beating himself up for during the past hour. And Louis supposes that maybe most people would celebrate the loss of a shit employee, but. It’s not a victory Louis can rejoice over, not right now. 

“I know,” Louis starts, “but I just can’t help but —” 

“Wonder if you’re partly responsible.” Harry articulates the words in Louis’ head, and Louis wonders if his face is really that transparent. 

Slumping back into his chair, Louis gives Harry a weary look. “Yeah.”

Harry hums in understanding. Shifting his position on the desk so that he’s facing Louis, he touches Louis’ shoulder gently. “You’re not, though.” Harry’s words are as soft as the gesture — kind, understanding. 

Louis looks up at the ceiling. “I just wonder,” he says, “If I should have confronted him myself. Instead of telling her, you know, so that drastic measures wouldn’t have to be pulled. I mean, Harry,” he says, dragging his hand through his hair, “he’s got a family to feed. It’s the summer. It’s hard to find new openings right now in New York.” As he says it, all of his worries about Dan return afresh. 

Harry gives a shake of the head. “You’re not responsible for that, Louis.”

“I just keep wondering if I should have been a better leader,” Louis admits, quietly. 

When he looks at Harry, there’s a ferocity in his eyes that wasn’t present before. “You know how amazing you are, right?” Harry says, and that’s not what Louis was expecting, at all. “This entire fucking campaign wouldn’t be what it is without you. Without you and your vision, your brilliant mind, and the way you’re able to lead all of us, Louis.

“You’re here, day after day, catering to the needs of everyone who walks through your door, even if you’re on your lunch break. Sometimes you don’t even fucking _take_ a lunch break, Lou, because you’re so focused on doing the best you can for this company. You’re already a fucking amazing director.”

Louis is too stunned to say anything, shocked by Harry’s words, shocked that Harry bothered to pay attention to him in ways that Louis hadn’t even realized. Harry sees him like _that,_ in a way Louis doesn’t even see himself. And Harry’s here, still looking at him with an unwavering sincerity in his eyes, like he means everything he’s saying, and it’s, well. It’s not something Louis was prepared to deal with today. 

“Thank you, Harry,” Louis says finally, unable to form any other words. “I — Thanks. That means a lot.” 

Harry gives Louis a small smile, picking up his mug. “Gonna get some tea. Want me to get any for you?” 

Louis blinks, returning from his state of stupefaction. “Um — yes,” Louis says, passing his mug to Harry, and Harry holds it up in acknowledgement before walking toward the door.

“Yorkshire,” Louis shouts after him. 

“Milk, no sugar,” a fading voice calls back from the hallway, and of course Harry knows. Louis sinks back into his chair, squeezing his eyes shut. 

There should be no cosmic explanation for why, despite every law in the universe, Louis can’t help but feel an intense attraction to Harry. Harry, who is able to know exactly how Louis is feeling by merely glancing at his face. Harry, who constantly brings him French Vanilla coffee pods even if Louis has only had French Vanilla coffee twice. Harry, who happens to be the kindest, most caring person, always ready to be there for Louis. 

The universe must be playing a cruel joke on him. It must be, because instead of giving him back his lost soulmate, it’s gone ahead and decided to torture him with Harry Styles. Harry, who Louis can’t have, because Harry belongs to someone else, his own soulmate. 

Louis lets out a deep breath, thinking about Harry’s soulmate. Thinking about how Harry’s soulmate is probably as beautiful as Harry, some person that Louis cannot compare to, and how the universe has chosen them to be Harry’s. Fuck the universe. “Fuck you,” he calls out to the universe. He’s aware of how crazy he sounds. 

Maybe he is crazy, with how he’s falling for Harry. And fuck that, too. 

———————

Julia appears at his office one afternoon with the news. 

She marches up to his desk purposefully, when Louis is in the middle of watching YouTube videos of kids falling. Haha. Kids are so dumb. 

“What are your plans next week?” she asks, tapping on his desk. Leaning over, she peers at his screen. “I’ve seen this one. It’s not that funny.”

“I told you, Julia,” Louis drawls out, eyes fixed on the screen. “I’m not interested in a date with you.” 

As the only person in the office that can deal with Louis’ antics, Julia rolls her eyes, reaching over to close his laptop. “We’ve found a location for our shoot.”

“Okay,” Louis says. He opens his laptop back up. “Where is it?”

“North Carolina,” Julia says. “There are some sand dunes that are perfect.” A road trip, it seems. Alright. 

Louis contemplates this new development. Getting out of town. No sitting at his desk. A fun, yet productive time with his colleagues. It’s a quick decision. 

“Okay,” he says easily, leaning back in his chair. “Who are the poor mucks who are forced to endure me for a few days?”

“Styles,” Julia says. 

Louis stops breathing. He swivels his head to look up at her. “What?”

His expression must have contorted into something that resembles shock, because Julia gives him a puzzled look. “Harry Styles? You’re going on a photoshoot, Louis. He’s the photographer.”

“Right, yeah,” Louis says, attempting to bring his face back to normalcy. He waits one second and says, “Just Styles?” 

Julia gives a nod of the head. “It’s summer, Louis. Everyone’s gone, and we can’t afford to lose any more staff.” She’s right. Everyone’s on fucking vacation. “But you two are seasoned and completely capable. It’ll be fine.”

Just Styles. Just Harry Styles. “Okay,” he says again, choking out the words. Julia shoots him one more confused look before heading towards the door. Louis slumps in his seat. 

Three days with Harry. Three days with only Harry. Three days with only Harry, the man who makes Louis question his self control.

Okay. Louis exhales through his nose. This will be fine. 

———————

Packing is harder than expected. This might have to do with the fact that Louis doesn’t know whether to bring his form fitting pants or his normal work pants. He might feel even more panicked at the fact that he’s even having a dilemma over this situation.

Does it even matter? He shouldn’t be fretting over his work pants because of Harry. No. He shouldn’t. It’s not like he’d be questioning his fashion choices if it was Dan coming along with him. He smokes a joint in an attempt to tame his running thoughts.

He’s still thinking about this when he’s on the metro, an hour later, on the way to buy deodorant. Pulling out his phone, he looks at it thoughtfully. He needs a second opinion from someone. His thumb hovers over another button, considering. 

Should he? He thinks about it. He really shouldn’t make decisions like this when he’s high. 

Hm. Might as well. 

_Hypothetical scenario : if you’re going on a work trip with your coworker who happens to be very cute, do you bring your ass pants or not ?_

There’s a reason why Louis leaves out the fact that he may or may not be thinking about said coworker 24/7. Pressing send before he can regret it, he slips his phone into his pocket and waits. 

A second later, his phone pings. And pings again. And again. The woman next to him gives him a dirty look like she’s never heard a phone before. Louis glares at her until she turns away, and unlocks his phone to see what Nick has said.

_what’s his name_

_!?!?!?!_

_let me guess._

_matt._

_wait, no. i bet his name is something douchey like anton. ha. u would._

Louis bites down an unexpected grin. For some reason, a small spurt of excitement bubbles up within him. _God._ He’s not a fucking middle schooler, for crying out loud. He can discuss these things with adult dignity with his friends. 

_Harry,_ Louis texts back. He looks around to make sure nobody saw him type the five-letter word, even though he’s aware that no one gives a shit. 

_not helpful. last name?_

Nick’s got his stalking fingers ready, it seems. Then again, Louis’ not surprised. Nick’s job as a radio host always requires stalking somebody. 

_Styles,_ Louis types, and tries to angle his body so that the phone screen is covered. Admitting the first name is one thing, but the last name is another. He could’ve gotten away with the first name before, but there could be a person on this train who knows a Harry Styles, okay. 

_wow. seems like he tweets a lot on holidays. he really likes to wish his followers happy holidays._

Louis isn’t really sure what to do about this information. _Ummm that’s great_ , he writes back. 

_not really sure why he tweets on holidays,_ comes another text. _because no one probably gives a shit._

 _Let the man live, Nick,_ Louis texts back. _Maybe he just really likes holidays._

Nick sends an eye-roll emoji. _i’m just saying. he only has 100 followers. no one is paying attention._

Harry tweets on holidays. Louis doesn’t know why he finds this adorable. Maybe he finds everything that Harry does adorable. He pushes the thought away. 

Thirty seconds pass before he’s getting a call on his phone. 

“He’s cute,” Nick says as a way of greeting. The train doors open, and Louis steps out gratefully into the open space. He is _not_ having a conversation about Harry Styles in a crowded metro. 

“He is,” Louis says, letting out a sigh. Maybe things would be easier if Harry weren’t so cute. 

There’s a slight pause. “I notice that he’s got matched eyes?” Nick questions. 

Louis inhales a short breath. “Yes. He does.”

Nick makes a humming sound, but doesn’t press any further. Then he says, “Bring your ass pants.”

“I had a feeling you were going to say that,” Louis tells him, narrowly getting run over by a frantic girl dashing for the train. God. People need to watch where they’re going. 

“D’you know how lucky you have it, to have an ass like that?” Nick responds, the crowds starting to drown out his voice. Louis presses the phone closer to his ear. “You gotta put it to good use. Shake it like a Polaroid picture.”

Louis shakes his head, laughing. It’s good to get additional input from someone outside of the situation, and Nick’s comment feels like comic relief. “Why do all my friends talk about my ass so much?”

“Because we love it, and we love you, so you should be grateful for us. By the way,” he adds. “We should go out for pints when you come back from your trip.”

Pints sound great. It _has_ been some time since they last met up. Although. “That might be a while,” Louis says. “Lottie’s visiting soon, in around a week.”

“Then bring her along,” Nick says. “We’ll make it a party.”

“I don’t need you to corrupt my sister,” Louis chastises.

“Don’t need to. You’ve already corrupted her enough on your own.”

Louis snorts, but it’s accompanied with a grin. “Sod off.”

“Love you,” Nick says, before hanging up.

When Louis gets home, he finishes packing and writes a list of instructions for Zayn on how to take care of his cat. As he’s writing _do not feed her the food under the cupboard she will vomit,_ his phone starts ringing. 

Still scribbling, Louis answers the call, wedging his phone in between his shoulder and his ear. “Hello?”

“Hi,” he hears. It’s Harry. 

“Hazza,” he greets, the nickname slipping out of its own accord, and he feels like he’s betraying himself. “To what do I owe the honour?”

He hears a chuckle on the line. “Are you a savoury or sweets person?” Harry asks.

Putting down his pen, Louis walks over to his living room to settle down on his couch. “I’m very sweet, Harold.”

“You can’t just keep saying that,” Harry says, but it’s said with a hint of amusement. “Do you like chips or cookies?”

“I believe the terms we use back home are ‘crisps’ or ‘biscuits’,” Louis says. He tacks on a posh British accent for emphasis. “Can’t have you turning on us now, can we.”

“I’m allowed to do whatever the fuck I want,” Harry says. If he were here in person, Louis imagines that he would say it with a swaggering stance.

“Ah, but you can’t, can you, Harold? It’s why we’ve got a government.”

“All I wanted to do was to be courteous and see if you wanted to pack savoury snacks or sweet snacks for our trip tomorrow,” Harry sighs. Of course Harry would be considerate enough to pack snacks like a fucking decent, and crazy, person. “But I guess if you’d prefer to discuss politics, then I’ll just pack a bag of lettuce and we’ll snack on that, then.”

Based on Harry’s health food choices, it’s highly probable that Harry would do just that. Louis doesn’t want to risk it, which is why he says quickly, “Chips. Please pack chips.” He does not want to eat lettuce for eight hours. 

“I believe that the term is ‘crisps,’ Louis Tomlinson,” Harry tuts. “God. And you call yourself a Brit?”

Louis shakes his head, helpless to fight the smile on his face. “You can’t use that against me,” he says. His comebacks aren’t usually this bad, damn it. 

“There are no rules,” Harry says. “I’m picking you up tomorrow, right?”

It’s a plan they had previously discussed, with Harry agreeing to drive the rented van to Louis’ flat. Louis isn’t an early bird; he wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes open at the wheel before seven. 

“That you are. Six AM, right?”

“Right,” Harry confirms. His words are followed by a loud rustling sound. 

“Sorry,” Harry apologizes, after the noise has gone on for over ten seconds. “I’m just getting my clothes out of the laundry.” 

Louis nods exaggeratedly, even though Harry isn’t there. “Good job. It’s very impressive that you know how to do the laundry.”

“Thanks, I learned yesterday,” Harry chirps, without missing a beat. Always ready to match Louis’ remarks, this Harry. At the thought, Louis can’t help but distantly wonder if his own soulmate would do the same.

A moment of silence passes before Louis glances at his clock and realizes that if they’re leaving at six, he should better head to bed soon. He still hasn’t even finished writing down Zayn’s instructions for Lucy.

“I should sleep,” he says, although if he must admit, he doesn’t sound very convincing. It’s not that late. He _could_ stay up a little longer.

But Harry says, “Yeah, no, you should. Don’t want you to be groggy for tomorrow’s shoot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis agrees, even though that wasn’t something that had even crossed his mind. “Not a good idea.”

Another pause. “Well,” Louis says, catching the tone of reluctance in his own voice. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Louis.” Harry’s voice is soft, perhaps softer than it was a few seconds ago. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

There’s something about the way that Harry’s voice lilts up at the end that reminds Louis of hope. And so, nodding once again, Louis says, “Tomorrow,” and they hang up. 

Louis stares at his phone for a few seconds, before hauling himself out of the couch and back into the kitchen to finish Lucy’s instructions. 

When he heads into his room an hour later, his eyes land on the ass pants on his bed. They’re still there from where he had tossed them a few hours ago, just before his trip to buy deodorant. He looks at them for a good second before throwing them into his duffel bag, and tries not to think about it too much.

It doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself as he turns off the lights. He can always take them out later. 

He shuts his eyes, tries not to think about the next three days too much, and forces himself to go to bed. 

———————

True to his word, Harry picks him up at six. 

Actually, Harry arrives at 5:55 so he can pick Louis up at six. Louis receives a text before their agreed time. 

_Hi I’m here already, but you can come out when you’re ready!!!_

Harry is the person who treats road trips like a work shift, arriving earlier than necessary. Louis is not surprised at all. He decides to mess with Harry a bit. 

_Actually you know what ? I’m just gonna stay in bed today sorry_

Harry replies just as quickly. 

_Louis... I know you’re fucking with me_

The typing bubble keeps bouncing, and Louis waits in anticipation. What can he say? He loves riling people up.

_You better come outside. Or I will drag your ass out here._

God. Upon reading Harry’s text, Louis’ sleep-deprived mind is filled with images of Harry dragging his ass in ways that he does not need in his life. Especially not right now, when Harry is fifty feet away. 

This is all Louis’ fault. He should have just obeyed and gone outside. 

_Ok fine I’m coming_

Louis is glad that Zayn is not here to witness this rare moment of Louis giving in to a threat so quickly for once in his life. In his defence, this might possibly be because surrendering, in this particular scenario, is the easiest way to go. It is definitely way easier than having R-rated thoughts about Harry Styles when they’re about to embark on an eight hour road trip. No fucking thank you. 

Louis does thirty seconds of breathing exercises before stepping outside. He can do this. Yes. He’ll be fine. 

“Hi,” Louis says as he climbs into the passenger seat. Surprisingly, his voice stays calm, even. Like he was not just thinking dirty things about his colleague. He buckles his seatbelt. 

“Hi,” Harry says, and Louis feels him pause. “You okay?”

Louis is pretty sure he’s only been in the car for one second, and yet, Harry is already able to read it all over his face. God, is Louis that obvious? 

“Yeah,” Louis says, bringing himself to face Harry. There's no way that Harry happens to be a mind reader, right? “I’m fine, why?”

Harry’s brows are furrowed in confusion, like the confusion is coming from himself, and not Louis. “I don’t know,” he replies, expression perplexed. “Just. Felt it?” 

“Felt?” Louis muses, throwing his duffel bag into the back seat. “Like you can read my emotions and stuff?”

Harry laughs, starting the engine. “No,” he says, tone thoughtful. “Just felt it.”

Louis hums thoughtfully as they pull out into the road. “Well, maybe you are an emotion reader, Styles,” he says. “You’re just really attuned to my emotions, it seems.”

“Maybe.” Harry tosses Louis a grin before bringing his eyes back to the road. “Or maybe it’s just you.”

“Just me?” Louis says, raising a brow. “Like you’re a certified Louis Tomlinson emotion reader?”

“Maybe. I don’t think it’s a good profession, though. I’d only have one client.”

“The best client,” Louis throws at him.

Harry shakes his head, grinning. “Not even a little bit.”

Louis whacks him on the shoulder, and Harry’s grin widens. “When you’re done insulting me, Styles,” he says haughtily, “I believe I was promised some snacks.”

“In my bag, in the backseat,” Harry informs him. He gives Louis a quick side glance. “I also brought breakfast too. Just in case.”

“Why are you actually the best person,” Louis says, digging out a breakfast sandwich from Harry’s bag, and catches a smile on Harry’s face, dimple digging into his cheek.

A breakfast sandwich. God. And an amazing breakfast sandwich at that, with bacon and egg and cheese and shit. Harry Styles deserves all good things.

It’s a good thing that Harry’s driving, because Louis does not normally function early in the morning. After Louis’ devoured his breakfast sandwich, he conks out for the next four hours, head rested on the jumper he’s placed between him and the window.

When he wakes up, they’re well on the highway, running at 70 miles an hour. The sun beams intrusively through the windows, and Louis squints, swivelling his head to check out his surroundings. When he looks to his left, he sees that Harry’s got his sunglasses on, head facing straight toward the road. 

He looks proper cool, is what it is. With the windows open and the wind coursing through his hair, Harry looks like someone in a music video. 

It’s weird to be staring without any purpose, so Louis tells him, “You look like you’re in a commercial.”

“You’re awake, then?” Harry says, flicking his eyes over. “Good morning, sunshine.”

“Good morning.” Louis chooses not to comment on the pet name. Instead, he looks out the window, at the trees and fields flying by. “Where are we?”

“Virginia,” Harry affirms, not taking his eyes off the road. Louis tries not to notice how steady and strong Harry’s stance is when he’s driving, his firm hands rested easily on the wheel. This was a bad idea. Maybe Louis should have driven. 

“Need a bathroom break?” Harry asks.

A bathroom break sounds necessary. Checking the clock, Louis realizes that it’s been four hours since they’ve departed. If they stop at a gas station, maybe he can pick up a drink. 

“Bathroom break sounds ace,” Louis confirms, and Harry pulls into the nearest exit.

After a quick wee and a stop at the gas station’s convenience store, Louis heads towards the car with an iced tea in hand. He looks up to find Harry leaning against the van, head tilted up, camera pressed to his face. He’s taking pictures of the gas station sign, a beacon standing against the blue sky. Upon seeing Louis, Harry turns and aims the camera toward him.

“Not a model, Harry, just an art director,” Louis says, rounding the van to reach for the passenger door.

Shrugging, Harry lifts the camera again. Snap. “You could be, though.”

Louis isn’t sure if Harry is complimenting his looks or if he’s just pulling another one of those motivational _you can do anything you set your mind to_ phrases. Either way, Louis shakes his head with a dismissive laugh, pulling the car door open.

Harry stops him. “No — wait, Louis.” He gestures to the far corner of the parking lot, where there’s a stretch of dry grass before a fence. It’s quite fitting for a gas station setting — it looks abandoned, with nothing else beyond the fence besides a field. “Let’s go over there.”

By now, Louis has learned that Harry is the kind of person who can’t be swayed when his mind is set on something. Leaving his iced tea inside the car, Louis follows him, stepping over the occasional litter to get to the fence. Once they arrive in front of the fence, Harry stops to face Louis. 

He’s got his photographer face on, eyebrows drawn together, eyes slightly narrowed. Harry’s conceptualizing his creative vision — as a creator, Louis knows the look all too well. 

After a few seconds, Harry gestures for Louis to shuffle to the left. Louis shuffles. 

Harry presses the shutter button. Snap. 

“Can you look over here?” Harry demands, lifting his finger up, and Louis angles his face toward the finger, blinking into the sun. 

Louis has been to way too many photoshoots to not know how photographers work. He’s even conducted a few of them, himself. The next two minutes are spent patiently standing, tilting his head this way and that way while Harry hovers around him like a fly beside a lamp. 

“Great.” Harry brings his camera down, skimming through his photos quickly. His finger pauses. “I was wondering,” Harry says, looking up at Louis hesitantly, “If I could do one more of you?”

Louis shrugs. “Okay.” 

“Okay.” Harry fidgets a little, before stepping closer to Louis. “Can you tilt your face up to the sun, do you think?”

“Do I think?” Louis laughs a bit. “I know how to tilt my face up to the sun.”

This brings a short chuckle out of Harry. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Just tilt your face up to the sky and close your eyes for me.”

The last _for me_ causes Louis’ cheeks to feel hot. There are many things that Louis should not be thinking about in close proximity to Harry, and this is one of them. Yeah, he’s decidedly _not_ going to think of all the things he would do for Harry, if he asked. Not the time.

Nonetheless, Louis brings his face up, the warmth of the sun hitting him directly. He shuts his eyes. 

“Perfect,” Harry whispers, and a few delicate snaps as Harry moves around him yet again, his steps sounding gentler this time, closer. 

“Can I,” he hears, quiet, and Louis opens his eyes just in time to see Harry reach towards his face, bringing soft fingers to position his chin to the left. 

Harry is too close. Louis can see the flecks in his green eyes, the stubble on his chin. He shuts his eyes quickly for his own sake, willing for his breathing to become even.

And then Harry’s fingers are gone, just as quick, a fleeting ghost of a touch that leaves behind a lingering ache. Louis feels his breathing return as Harry steps back, and keeps his eyes closed as Harry takes picture after picture.

The sun is a welcoming presence, pleasant, and Louis finds himself enjoying the balmy warmth. He doesn’t realize that he’s lost himself in it until he realizes that the camera shutter sound has been absent for a while. Opening his eyes languidly, he finds Harry just looking at him.

“What?” Louis says, stretching. He feels like a cat after having an afternoon nap in the sun.

Harry shakes his head, gaze still rested on Louis. “Nothing,” he says, turning away. “Let’s head back.” He hoists his camera strap onto his shoulder.

They make their way back to the gas station in companionable silence, wading through patches of dry grass and gravel until they reach the van. Harry gives Louis a small smile as they climb back into the car, and they’re off. 

———————

Hour five of the trip consists of Louis tossing peanuts at Harry while roasting him about his music preferences. Admittedly, Harry’s taste in music isn’t actually bad at all. Louis just likes to make fun of him. 

“Can’t believe you actually enjoy Carly Rae Jepsen,” Louis says, like he didn’t bob his head along when Liam had been listening to it last week. 

Harry flashes an indignant glare at Louis, quick enough for his eyes to return to the road. “Carly is literally the queen of pop, Louis.” 

“Isn’t that Lady Gaga, though? Beyoncé?” Louis leans back in his seat, putting his feet on the dashboard. He wonders if he looks cool, before realizing that he probably doesn’t. 

“There can be many queens of pop,” Harry insists passionately. “Carly is just one of them. Her sound is like, pop and disco and funk all in one. She’s an icon right now.”

He’s aware that Harry is throwing out some good, factual points, but he can’t bring himself to care. “Is she Carly? Or is she Carly Rae?” Louis muses, because he’s only here for argumentative purposes. “I feel like as her number one fan, you should know this.”

Harry reaches over to flick Louis’ ear. In response, Louis throws another peanut. 

Hour six is followed by Louis stumbling across a radio station of which only gaudy pop songs from the 2000s are played, and they dance to LMFAO and Bruno Mars with the windows down. Louis is pretty sure they get more than a few stares from fellow drivers on the highway, but by the way Harry is laughing, he can’t really bring himself to care. 

Louis offers to drive for hours seven and eight, while Harry takes a nap in the passenger seat. Harry is a still sleeper, curled into one position for the next two hours, sunglasses shielding him from the sun. 

When hour nine rolls around, they’re close enough to the sand dunes that Harry offers to take the wheel again. Louis’ distaste for driving causes him to comply. He’s happy just to stare at all the scenery whizzing by. 

But soon enough, he finds himself observing Harry, yet again, and they’ve spent so many hours together by now that he doesn’t bother to look away this time. He manages to stare for twenty seconds before Harry’s flitting his eyes over.

“What?” Harry’s words are said through an embarrassed smile. 

“I didn’t know that your hair curled like that,” Louis states, and there’s something that compels him to _touch,_ so he does just that. He reaches over to tug loosely on a lock of Harry’s hair. Harry’s usual wave of a quiff is starting to turn into curls, swooping over his forehead like they’re trying to find their way down. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, shrugging. “It grows out into proper curls after I haven’t cut it a while. Used to be longer. I usually style it too, but on lazy days I just let them flop.”

Louis fluffs them up a bit, feeling Harry’s hair in his hands. “I like them,” he says, before his brain can filter his words. 

“Yeah?” Harry’s blushing a little bit, Louis can tell. It’s the bashful reaction that causes Louis to smile and nod assuringly instead of taking his comment back. He knows he’s been pulling back for the past few days, but right now, as he’s looking at Harry, he can’t exactly remember why. 

“Yeah,” Louis says softly, and the smile on Harry’s face doesn’t fade. 

Jockey’s Ridge State Park is set along a beach town, isolated on the state’s peninsula beside the Atlantic. As the highway fades to streets of beach houses lined by the ocean, Louis can’t help but feel like he’s stumbled upon a postcard. It’s where they’ll be for the next two days. 

To Louis’ left are the sand dunes, towering on the edge of the town. By the time Louis and Harry pull up, they’ve got an hour before the models arrive. It gives them plenty of time to set up, so they do just that — Harry taking a bunch of test shots, Louis preparing to set up the lights. 

The first shoot of the campaign is a simple one. It’s intentional, meant to use only the barren desert to evoke rawness in their visuals. Louis skims the shot list: solo shots of their models in lingerie in the sand — some on the hill, some lying on the ground, some low shots from below capturing the sky above their heads. Thankfully, there’s not much preparation to do.

It’s too hot to move much, and Louis is perfectly content with staying put to set up lighting. Do the most work with the least amount of movement. That might as well be Louis’ motto for life. 

Then there’s Harry, seemingly unperturbed by the sweltering heat. As Louis sets up, he finds himself watching Harry run back and forth along the sand dunes, skipping from place to place to capture the appropriate shots. In the expansive landscape of the imitation desert, Harry looks carefree, lively. 

“How are you not dying in this heat?” Louis calls out, just as Harry trips over his two feet. 

“I am!” Harry yells back.

“You’re literally running,” Louis shouts. 

From where he is in the distance, Harry gives a shrug. Louis’ pretty sure he’s smiling. “There’s too much good energy in this place,” Harry exclaims. He raises up his camera to take a snap of Louis, and carries on. 

Good energy. Harry is ridiculous. Shaking his head, Louis can’t help but laugh a bit. 

Sooner or later, the heat must get to Harry, because when Louis looks up, he’s no longer running. Instead, he’s walking now, seemingly beaten down by the heat. The next time Louis sees Harry, he’s opted to lie in the sand, camera on his chest. 

Harry appreciates everything, Louis realizes, as he watches Harry stare up at the sky. He doesn’t think he’s met anyone like Harry, someone who immerses himself so fully into moments, to just live. To just be present.

It’s really something. 

“Louis!” Louis is in the middle of erecting a lighting stand when he hears Harry’s voice. It seems as if Harry is done pretending to be a desert lizard. Louis turns to see Harry’s long legs running toward him in the sand, resembling something of a graceless giraffe. 

Once Harry’s arrived, he’s a little out of breath. “I found you a cool rock,” Harry says, like a five year old. He places it in Louis’ hand. 

It’s just a regular rock. There is absolutely nothing cool about it. Despite the obvious joke, Louis can’t help but feel himself smile as he looks up at Harry. “Thanks.”

Harry returns a grin of his own, turning back to his camera, and Louis tucks the rock into his pocket. For safekeeping. 

The models arrive, as do the hair and makeup crew. It’s a relatively small sized-crew for a shoot like this, and Louis wonders if they can handle it. 

It turns out that they can. The shoot begins surprisingly well, even if Louis has to direct and hold the overhead flat at the same time. What’s even more surprising is that Louis doesn’t have to do as much directing as he had anticipated. 

Instead, Harry’s got it under control. He’s never seen Harry work before, Louis realizes, as he watches Harry flit around, crouching at different angles with his camera. Harry is perhaps the only one who can shift from being an amused toddler, squinting at the ground, to being a focused adult man, in the span of two whole seconds. Photographer Harry is all about details and precision, calling out commands to the blond model who is currently being shot in the distance. Louis thinks his name is Cole. 

“Nico,” Harry yells out to him. Oops. “Can you angle your face a bit to the left, please.” Nico angles. 

The male models have all been taking the shoot in stride, as if lingerie were their second skin. Watching them positioned in front of the camera remind Louis as to why he chose to include men in the first place. It makes him excited to see the final product.

A few more shutter sounds, and then Harry’s making his way over to where Louis is standing. He nudges his camera towards Louis, slightly breathless. “What do you think?” Harry says, brushing his hair from his face. 

Setting down the overhead flat, Louis leans forward to peek at the screen, bringing his thumb to scroll through all the pictures that Harry’s taken so far. 

After having pored through Harry’s photos on his website, it’s an amazing thing to finally see his art in action. It’s as if Louis gets to see the artistic vision happening, in real time. 

In Harry’s picture, Nico’s standing at a distance, the hill of the dune arching up behind him. There’s a sliver of a blue sky peeking up at the top, and Nico is in the middle of it all, set before the wall of sand with his face tilted up. 

It’s an image of sensuality and adventure all in one. When Louis had proposed his vision for this campaign, this was exactly what he had hoped for. In some way, they had reached a beautiful marriage between vision and execution. He feels excitement bubbling in his chest. If this is only the first shoot, they’ve got so much to look forward to. 

“God,” Louis mutters, unable to stop the words from coming out. “In the words of Hagrid, you’re a fucking wizard, Harry.”

Harry’s looking at him, face shining, and Louis doesn’t know why Harry’s behind the camera when he’s sure that Harry’s smile is more stunning than all the models here. 

In an attempt to capture more variety, they call in another female model to pose with Nico. The shoot lasts until sunset, with the heat gradually diminishing as the sun sinks lower. Harry’s idea to capture details along with long shots is a good one, even if Louis does have to continually dust off the sand from the models’ legs. But they turn out well, close ups of lace against thigh on the sand, of silk over shoulders standing against the sky. When golden hour comes, a ray of soft sunlight hits, casting a glow that matches well with the purple horizon. It’s a magical setting. It’s even better than Louis could have imagined. 

When it’s time to pack up and leave, Louis’ creative soul feels full and content. Looking through the photos that Harry’s captured reinforces the feeling. He knows Harry feels the same way, because there’s a mutual, excited buzz as they head back to the car. They’re creatives. Art runs through their blood. 

“Good job today,” Louis tells him. In response, Harry gives him a happy hug. They climb into the car, satisfied with today’s outcomes. 

As they pull away from the dunes, the sun makes its last appearance and twilight begins to set in. Louis rolls the windows down, allowing the humid North Carolina air to soak him up. If he looks close enough, he can see the faint outline of a star beginning to peek out.

“Let’s go to the beach,” Harry suggests. Louis turns to look at him, curls blowing in the wind, and nods. The beach sounds nice.

After stopping at a diner, they walk with their trays of burgers and shakes to the beach, taking off their shoes to trudge along soft sand. There aren’t many people out tonight, and the only sound that meets them are the gentle lapping of the waves. Louis is glad he’s got a bag of food in one hand and a drink in the other, because right now, Harry’s arm keeps brushing against his. It’s a slight touch, but it’s burning into his skin. He’s itching to reach out and grab Harry’s hand. The heat is really getting to him.

The pier provides them an overarching view of the sunset, and proves to be a good place to sit. In the middle of burger bites and milkshake slurping, they recount moments from the shoot, excitedly talking about their favourite shot of Amber, a girl who spent ten minutes jumping to get the perfect picture. There’s a moment where a seagull comes by and attempts to snatch up a fry, and Harry almost falls off in the process. It takes every bit of willpower in Louis not to laugh about it for ten minutes. He still does, anyway.

As they sit in comfortable silence, legs dangling above the water, Louis thinks about how easy it is to be with Harry. How being with Harry feels as if he’s already known him for a while. It shouldn’t be this easy to be with somebody he’s just met this summer, and yet, it is.

Legs dangling, soft wind blowing, Louis can’t help but feel free. 

———————

There’s one problem at their Airbnb. When Louis had booked the beach cabin online, it had advertised two beds. Two.

The posting wasn’t wrong; they do have two beds. What the posting had failed to mention was that the second bed was a sofa couch — a sofa couch, which, when pulled out, consists of a mattress that slants to the side. It’s an extremely impractical piece of furniture. If Louis wanted to keep falling off throughout the night, he would sleep on it. But he doesn’t. 

“I can sleep on the floor,” Louis says. He’s lying. The floor isn’t even carpeted. There are no sleeping bags around. He could use a blanket, if he’s really desperate.

Harry’s got his bottom lip in between his teeth, and he hasn’t said anything for the past minute. That’s fine. There’s not like there’s much of anything else to say, anyway. 

Maybe Louis can sleep on the armchair. Harry definitely can’t, as Harry’s got a terrible back, never mind the fact that his legs are also much, much longer than Louis’. They can’t afford to have their photographer suffer when they’ve got another shoot the next day. Louis might wake up with a crick in his neck, but what are the other options?

Harry’s still silent, staring at the sofa bed like it’s given him a hard math problem. Louis moves toward the blankets, about to drape them over the armchair, when Harry speaks.

“You can sleep with me,” Harry offers, words rushed.

Louis’ eyes flicker up to him, and Harry’s eyes are still fixed on the sofa bed as he continues to speak. “There’s enough space for both of us, and… And. There’s not really another option.” He brings a hand up, rubbing at his neck.

There’s a lump in Louis’ throat that he’s afraid to swallow, just in case Harry can hear it. Spending a night with Harry in the same bed? That’s something that Louis probably wouldn’t be able to handle. Spending _two_ nights with Harry in the same bed, now — Louis pretty sure he’ll combust. He can hear Zayn cackling with glee all the way from New York. 

Maybe Louis is a bit of a masochist. He probably is, because he ends up saying, “Sure,” and shuffles away to get his stuff, inevitably beginning his death sentence. 

———————

Getting ready for bed is awkward. It shouldn’t be this awkward. Louis’ shared a bed with other guys before, shared a bed with Zayn _several_ times in uni, when he was too drunk to make it to his own bed at night. Plus, it’s _Harry_. Louis has seen Harry snort beer out of his nose once. He should be able to handle seeing Harry walk into his room with a towel.

But Louis can’t, because he’s a human being with hormones and has admittedly thought about a shirtless Harry more than once. So when Harry knocks on the door politely, Louis turns to his phone with every intention of not looking. He’s respectful. He also cannot risk popping a boner. 

“Come in,” he coughs, before realizing that his phone isn’t even turned on. Damn it. 

Louis is staring intently at the Apple logo on his powered screen when Harry walks in, dripping from his shower. Louis is trying really hard not to look from his peripheral vision. But it’s his peripheral vision, damn it. It’s not like anyone can _try_ to stop viewing things from their peripheral vision.

To counter this, he pointedly turns away from Harry’s general direction, still staring at his phone. And what happens next is proof that the universe likes taking the piss out of Louis, because his phone shuts down. It turns back to black, and all Louis can see is Harry’s reflection on his phone screen. 

His screen is alerting him that Harry is indeed, shirtless, and just to add pain to pressure, incredibly fit. And even though Louis could easily just put the damn phone away, and stare at the ceiling or something, he can’t help but look a little longer at his screen to make out the detailed ink on Harry’s skin, and — they’re tattoos. Fucking tattoos, littered all over his torso, from his collarbones to his hips.

Harry Styles has tattoos all over his torso. His fucking torso, and _shit_ , this is really going to feed Louis’ imagination for a long, long time. Louis’ eyes are itching to just _look,_ to see what the tattoos are, to maybe run his hands over them. He can’t. He has self control. 

When Harry throws a shirt over his head, Louis lets out an exhale. Was he holding in his breath the whole time without even knowing? If Harry had stayed shirtless for another hour, Louis is pretty sure he would have suffocated himself by accident.

Harry’s hovering above the bed uncertainly. “Are you planning on staying up?” he asks, and Louis looks over to realize that Harry’s asking if he wants the light on or not.

“No, no,” Louis rushes. “You can turn off the light,” he says, and Harry moves to the side of the room to flick the switch off. Louis feels the weight of the bed dip as Harry tentatively crawls in. Putting his phone away, Louis turns over to face his side of the bed. It’s too soon to handle facing Harry in such a situation. 

At least this room is relatively big. The rest of the beach house isn’t particularly so, only offering one floor — but the master bedroom is spacious, allowing Louis room to breathe in an otherwise cramped situation. If he were stuck in a tiny room with Harry Styles, Louis doesn’t know what he would do. 

On Louis’ side of the room, there’s a french window, revealing the beach at their literal doorstep. In the distance, Louis can hear the muffled crashing of waves, a rhythmic symphony of sorts. He’s never slept this close to a beach before.

Why is it so awkward? Louis wonders if it’s just his imagination. It’s not like Louis and Harry are strangers to being with each other in close proximity. Yet, there’s a tension in the air that Louis can’t ignore.

“S’nice,” Harry says quietly, breaking the silence. Louis nods, not really sure how to approach conversation in this stifling atmosphere. 

“Yeah, it is.” Louis keeps his gaze on the window, even though it’s pitch black outside. 

“I really like the beach.” Harry’s voice is low, groggy. 

Louis shifts onto his back so that he’s staring at the ceiling. “Do you go often?” he asks, and it’s partly an attempt at conversation, partly because he finds himself just wanting to know. Always wanting to know more about Harry.

From beside him, Louis feels Harry shake his head. “Not really. The last time I went was with my sister and her soulmate.”

Harry’s sister has a matched soulmate. Louis doesn’t know why he never knew this about him. “I didn’t know your sister was matched,” he says.

“Yeah, she is.” At the mention of his sister, Harry’s tone seems looser, more relaxed. “He’s really great. They fit really well.”

“Well, that’s why they’re soulmates, right?” Louis says, letting out an unsteady chuckle. It’s a weak attempt at lightening the mood, but Harry acknowledges it with a noise of amusement. 

“My sister just matched with someone pretty recently, too,” Louis says, contributing his share to the conversation. “She was ecstatic.” 

“How old is she?”

“Twenty,” Louis confirms. Harry hums in response.

There’s something about the dark that makes confessions safer to admit, so Louis says, “I was twenty when I met my soulmate, too.” He doesn’t know why he’s offering this vulnerable piece of information. He’s never really told this to anyone else but family, and the people who were there when it happened.

A moment of silence, before Harry asks, “Do you remember much about him?” 

“Not really,” Louis admits. “He sounded a little young, I think. He’s got hair longer than yours, a literal mop on his head.” Joking about the situation always alleviates the fact that he’s talking about his soulmate. And that he’s telling _Harry_ about him, of all people. 

From the way that Harry chuckles, it seems as if he understands. Of course he does, because he’s been in the same situation. “Didn’t know your soulmate was a cleaning device.” 

Louis smiles weakly. “How about you?” 

“Same,” Harry says, tone quiet. “Met him while I was travelling and never saw him again.”

That’s rough, Louis thinks, to have met somebody in a foreign city. To always be plagued with the knowledge that you’d probably never see them again. He stops himself from asking more — _how old were you? what did he look like?_ and doesn’t know whether it’s out of respect or because he isn’t sure whether he actually wants to know. 

“Well.” Louis keeps his voice light. “He missed a decent guy.” He tries to keep the emotion out of his voice, because _did he_ ever _miss a decent guy._

Louis can hear a slight smile in Harry’s voice. “Yours, too.”

A consoling mutuality crosses between them as they settle into a comfortable silence, solidarity in having been in the same situation. Of experiencing the hope of maybe, just maybe seeing their soulmate again, before crashing back to the inevitable reality that, no, probably not.

“Never thought it’d be me, you know,” Louis whispers, angling his head slightly toward Harry. “Someone who meets their soulmate only to never see them again.”

A beat passes before Louis hears Harry sigh. It’s a sigh of forlorn defeat, one that Louis knows all too well. “Yeah,” Harry says, voice equally soft. “Me neither.” 

“I just,” Louis says, because they’re at this point now of confession, “I just always wondered if I’d ever see him again.” 

Harry doesn’t respond, and Louis figures that this is where their conversation ends. That’s okay. He wouldn’t be surprised if Harry didn’t want to disclose any further. There’s only so much vulnerability for he can take for one night, and there’s only so much one could probably handle when it comes to this topic. 

There’s nothing left to say, and Louis begins to feel himself being lulled to sleep by the hanging silence. There’s the waves, still crashing gently, and the bed is comfy, so comfy, that maybe it’s a good thing Harry let him sleep here. He’s at the edge of consciousness, feeling himself sinking deeper into slumber, when he almost hears something, something that sounds like, “Do you ever think you’ll get over it?” 

———————

It’s still black outside when Louis’ alarm chirps at 5 AM. Louis is not used to awakening when the sky still resembles night time. The dark sky does nothing to motivate him to get up, for one.

The softness of the sheets and the shoulder he’s resting on inform Louis that he’s not back home. Unless he’s happened to finally get sheets that aren’t a decade old, and Lucy has somehow turned into a person.

Tilting his head slightly, he’s met with a bundle of Harry. Harry’s head is angled toward the ceiling, mouth open slightly, wrinkles on his forehead smoothed out. In close proximity, Louis can make out the number of moles on his face, can see the morning stubble on his chin. Can smell the soap still lingering on his skin from the shower he took the night before.

It should alarm Louis with how natural this feels. Like he could stay in this state forever. It’s closer than they’ve been in a while, but he doesn’t feel the need to pull away. Instead, Louis finds himself sinking back into Harry’s shoulder, and drifts back to sleep. 

———————

When Louis wakes up again, it’s to Harry petting his hair. Maybe it’s a weird thing to wake up to, but instead of awkwardness, Louis is only able to pay attention to how soothing it feels. He realizes that his head is still on Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry smiles as Louis blinks groggily, resting his hand on Louis’ hair instead of drawing away. “Did you have a good sleep?”

Louis nods wordlessly, flopping back onto the pillow. It’s too early to form words. As Louis curls back into the sheets, he hears a laugh, and the sound reminds Louis of a warm summer breeze. 

He does get up eventually, but it’s only because Harry keeps trying to stealthily dip his hand into warm water. Harry’s a little bit of an asshole. However, Louis is better at being an asshole, which is why he dumps the entire glass on Harry the moment he gets out of bed. He can’t stop himself from laughing when he watches Harry jump back from the water, cursing as he stomps into the bathroom. Well. This is why _no_ _one_ should dare to mess with him. 

For breakfast, Harry prepares omelettes and pancakes using what the hosts have left in the fridge. Of course Harry would put in the effort to cook a full meal before it’s even light out. He makes it look easy, expertly handling two pans at once. Louis, on the other hand, is a shit cook. 

He ends up trying to help, anyway. If it’s pride that compels him to do so, just to show that, he too knows how to at least cook eggs, well. Harry doesn’t know that. He ends up dropping an egg on the floor, wasting their limited supply of ingredients, and Harry shoos him out of the kitchen with a spatula. Fair enough. Instead, Louis settles on making them both a cup of tea while he waits for breakfast. That, he knows how to do, at least. 

They leave the beach house early, stopping by a quaint coffee shop to pick up their morning fuel. Louis had opted for a pair of shorts instead of his ass pants, with slight regret. It’s going to be a long, hot day today. 

Nags Head, Louis realizes, is a perfect place for photoshoots. Within a fifteen minute drive, they’re able to use a whole variety of shooting locations. Today, they’re headed to three separate spots, all within the span of a ten-mile radius. 

Their first location of the day is along the road, located in a deserted area that doesn’t seem to be frequented by any cars. The sunrise hits right when they begin to shoot, giving way to a blossoming orange sky. 

Maybe it’s the general earliness of the morning that makes it so, but it turns out to be a calm, mild-mannered shoot. Except for the rush of the breeze, and Harry’s occasional commands, there’s not much sound that surrounds them. They wrap up at around ten, and head to the beach for their next location. The beach is close enough to a diner that Louis offers to pick up lunch for the crew and models.

As he looks at the menu, he realizes that he doesn’t really know what to order for a bunch of people. 

A burly man, who Louis presumes to be the owner, ambles out. “What can I get you?” he asks, wiping his hands with a towel.

Burgers are the safest bet. Louis orders a dozen, before a thought comes to mind. “Actually,” he says, and Burly Man raises a brow. “Can you change one of the orders for me?”

It’s worth it when he arrives back at the beach. Carrying multiple paper bags in each hand, he makes a call for lunch, and everyone flocks over to him like birds to breadcrumbs. Harry shuffles over to collect his meal, opens his own bag, and freezes. 

“Louis,” he says, a one-word statement. At the sound of Harry’s sober tone, some of the crew and models lift their heads up.

“Hm?” Louis tries his best to keep his voice cool, unsuspecting. He unwraps his burger, not looking at Harry, whose head is still directed to his bag.

“Why,” Harry says slowly, “Is there an entire head of lettuce in here.”

Louis shrugs, doing his best impression of a disinterested five year old. “I don’t know.”

Based on the looks they’re being given, Louis can tell that the crew and the models are really confused now. Poor them. They haven’t even known Harry and Louis for more than twenty-four hours. 

Harry’s still not saying anything, hasn’t moved in the past five seconds, and Louis wonders if he’s taken it too far. He risks a glance at him. Harry is still staring at the lettuce wordlessly. Louis had expected a reaction from him by now, maybe laugh, or yell, or _something._

Ten seconds pass by where no one moves, and as it drags on, Louis begins feels antsy. _Did_ he take it too far? Just before Louis opens his mouth to say something, Harry brings his head up and looks at Louis. Louis tries not to gulp. 

“I love it!” Harry exclaims, revealing the widest smile Louis has ever seen, and Louis stares in shock as Harry leans forward, sinking his teeth into the lettuce. 

With a mixed rush of relief and irritation, Louis realizes that Harry had riled him up on purpose. He fucking _hates_ Harry, and watches helplessly as Harry takes another large bite, holding the lettuce in both hands like a soccer ball. 

The cast and crew stare at him as well, before they finally accept that _yes,_ Harry _is_ actually going to eat a whole head of lettuce for lunch.

Well. This is not what Louis had expected. 

“You know,” Louis says, a little flustered that things aren’t going his way, “That I do actually have another burger for you.”

Without responding, Harry takes a third bite. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Louis,” Harry says, shrugging. “I like lettuce.”

After the sixth bite, Louis gives up. Harry, the fucking lunatic that he is, proceeds to eat the whole thing with a straight face, holding Louis’ stare the whole time. 

When Louis texts Zayn later, _i tried to prank harry and he ate a whole lettuce like a taco,_ Zayn only replies with, _do u think he’d eat your ass like that._

Louis doesn’t respond. 

———————

The third shoot takes place in front of a small beach house a little bit farther from the normal residential area. The area is fairly isolated, the house located away from the road. The house is quite picturesque itself, painted canary yellow. It’s perfect. 

Louis finds himself lagging a bit behind with all the equipment he’s carrying. Thankfully, Harry offers to help, and picks up a tripod in one hand and a lighting stand in the other. 

“Going well so far,” Louis says, panting a bit as they trudge up to the house. 

Harry nods, a sheen of sweat across his forehead. They’ve all got sweat on them by now, trapped in a layer of permanent humidity. “I keep hearing our models complain about sand getting in their butts,” he says, a tone of amusement in his voice. 

Louis laughs, imagining a batch of photos with their models picking sand out of their underwear. “God. That sounds hard.”

“It’s going well with the models,” Harry comments. 

Louis nods in earnest agreement. “Especially with the guys. They’re pulling it off real well.” For a group of men who probably don’t pose in lingerie all that often, they really are. 

Harry looks Louis up and down, before saying, “You would too.” 

Before Louis can even begin to unpack Harry’s response, Harry’s being called by someone on makeup, and he shoots Louis a cheeky grin before taking off. Louis, on the other hand, is left gaping after him, because what the _fuck, Harry_. 

At that convenient moment, Nico appears, adjusting his garter belt. “You guys are cute.”

“Who?” Louis sputters, except he knows exactly who he’s talking about. 

Nico casts a glance at him before turning back to his belt. “You and Harry.”

Louis shrugs, keeping his eyes on the ground. “We’re just mates.”

“Oh.” Nico looks at Harry, then back at him. “You guys are best friends, then?”

“Not exactly,” Louis says, because best mate is reserved for Zayn, someone he’s known for years, someone he’s comfortable with. But there’s comfort with Harry, isn’t there? “Well, I guess, kind of. Yeah,” Louis mumbles, mainly to himself. When he says it, he realizes how true it is, because there’s no one else he can joke around with like he can with Harry, not even Zayn. Nico gives him a confused look. 

“We’ve only known each other for a month,” Louis explains to him. As he says it, he becomes aware that it really has been only a month. Huh.

“Seems like you guys have known each other for longer,” Nico says, voicing Louis’ thoughts. 

“Yeah,” Louis says. Maybe his voice comes out a little softer than expected, because Nico’s looking at him now with an evaluating gaze. 

They say nothing for a little while, feet shuffling in the sand as the house gets closer. Then an excited Harry emerges from behind the house. Spotting Louis, his face lights up, until his eyes shift to Nico, and the enthusiastic expression drops. “Louis!” Harry shouts, waving exaggeratedly. “They have a trampoline in their backyard! Come over here!” 

When Louis looks at Nico, his eyebrows are raised. “You sure you’re just friends?” he says, cautiously, like he’s afraid of overstepping. They have only known each other for one day, after all. One day, and Louis is having this conversation with someone he’s just met. He could lie. 

“I don’t know,” Louis hears himself saying instead. He looks at Harry in the distance, now taking a picture of the sky. “I don’t know,” he repeats, because he likes the way it sounds. 

———————

The photoshoot is done. It’s all done, and after two days in the heat, Louis has never felt so grateful. 

The pictures turned out beautifully, don’t get him wrong. They’re all magnificently crafted and shot, a result of Harry’s amazing interpretation of Louis’ artistic vision. But Louis is ready to wind down, go home, take a fucking nap, and watch Love Island. In that exact order.

Except that won’t happen until tomorrow, because they’ve got one more night. Okay. He’ll take a rest day tomorrow. At least he can finally go to sleep now. 

His plans to sleep are foiled when him and Harry arrive at their front door, and Harry stops. In an attempt to see what Harry’s looking at, Louis cranes his head and sees nothing beyond the ocean. 

“We should go swimming,” Harry says, still staring out at the horizon. Oh. 

“We don’t have any swim trunks, Harry,” Louis informs him. They didn’t bring any, because this is a work trip. He’s about to suggest the possibility of just going starkers when he realizes that seeing Harry’s dick would probably be a bad idea. Sharing a bed with Harry after seeing his dick would _definitely_ be a bad idea. 

A small, frustrated pout begins to form on Harry’s face. Harry is five. “We can go to a Walmart.”

“Harry. Walmart is at least thirty minutes away.”

It doesn’t matter. Because somehow, Louis finds himself in the car with Harry, driving for half an hour to get a pair of cheap swim trunks that he’ll probably only wear for one night. 

After a quick traipse through the aisles, Harry emerges with a pair of the shortest yellow shorts Louis has ever seen. It’s a visual that Louis doesn’t need to be tortured by, but he supposes that at least he can have some time to prepare himself for it. Louis, in turn, has picked a pair of shark swim trunks. Because he can. 

Another thirty minute drive back, and they’re well past evening. The sky is descending into black, and Louis doesn’t know if it’s even safe to swim at some foreign beach at night, but it’s too late now. 

For all the heat that threatens them during the day, the island greets them with a slight breeze, reinforcing the fact that they’re on the coast. Keeping their shirts on, they toe off their shoes, placing them by the door. 

Louis holds out his hand to Harry, like they’re kids going on an adventure. Harry accepts without a word. “Ready?” Louis asks, and Harry nods, anticipation written all over his face. 

Feet storming into the sand, they crash onto the surf head on, bodies meeting the surging tide. The ocean is warmer than the night air, and Louis hears a yelp of delight from Harry as the water hits their faces. 

“We’re not actually going to swim, are we?” Louis shouts above the waves. He had assumed that _swimming_ meant just wading in the shallow end of the water. Because that’s all he’s up for, if he’s being honest. 

Harry turns his head, casting Louis a mischievous look. The moonlight hits the side of his face, highlighting his profile like a soft spotlight. “I didn’t take you for a wimp, Tomlinson.”

It’s a challenging answer that, despite the glowering look he’s giving Harry, Louis can’t help but be pleased by. He _likes_ how Harry pushes his buttons, makes him go further, and, well. It’s just a swim. He can swim.

“Fuck you,” Louis says. “First one to the buoy wins.” Without waiting for Harry’s response, he dives forward. He can imagine the indignant “hey!” that comes out of Harry. Nonetheless, Harry seems to be a speedy swimmer. Louis can feel the motions around him in the water, can feel Harry coming close at his feet. 

It’s a close draw. Louis is pretty sure that Harry reaches the buoy first, but it’s not really fair, because Harry has longer legs. “I won,” he tells Harry, panting as he holds on to the buoy. 

“Okay,” Harry says, his lips curved upward. He doesn’t bother to argue. 

They tread water as they regain their breath, staring out into the horizon. Wisps of cloud line along the night sky, the moon peeking through every so often. 

It’s peaceful. It’s a nice break from where he’s usually cooped up back in New York, full of city and bustle. They’ve landed into a kind of a vacation, Louis realizes. It’s summer, after all. He deserves to kick back and relax. 

The thought makes him shift onto his back into a floating position, head toward the sky. The movement to his left informs him that Harry’s doing the same, and they float in the water, arms and feet outstretched. For the next few minutes, all that Louis can hear is the rhythmic flow of the ocean. Closing his eyes, he imagines being one with the current, circulating along the course of the deep. 

They float until their muscles give out, until it’s too hard to keep their bodies horizontal. Instead, Louis begins to wade back toward the shore. In silent agreement, Harry follows.

Suddenly, just before they’ve reached the shallow end, he feels a blunt tug on his leg. Before Louis can utter _what the fuck_ , he’s going under.

“Oh my God,” Louis sputters when he comes back up, water dripping from his fringe. He’s met with a chortling Harry, his lanky legs kicking up bursts of water as he speeds away. 

In fervent determination, Louis hurls himself towards the water. When he’s close enough to reach Harry’s ankle, he pulls him down, as far down as he can. He jumps onto Harry, legs flailing as they both struggle to keep above water.

“Surrender,” Louis hisses, pinning Harry’s arms at his sides. Too late, he realizes the situation they’re in — wet clothes, thin clothing, close proximity. 

“Never,” Harry yells back. Harry is competitive, but as it turns out, Louis is too.

Louis wraps both his legs around Harry’s bottom half, caging him in. “Surrender now or forever hold your peace.”

“Isn’t that for weddings?” Harry asks, sounding a little breathless, before Louis’ weight causes them both to go under. 

When they bob back up together, a graceless mound of limbs, Harry yells, “I surrender!” 

At Harry’s declaration, Louis separates himself from him, because there’s no longer any reason to hold on. “Good,” he pants, hoping that his voice doesn’t betray him. “Smart choice, Styles.” He makes a move to stand up, trying to keep his legs steady. 

As he hoists himself out of the water, he hears a soft, “Louis,” and a tug on his arm. Louis turns around, and Harry’s holding his wrist, staring at Louis with an open expression. 

“What,” Louis says, even though he has a feeling that he knows, and then Harry’s rising forward to kiss him.

Louis’ brain isn’t able to do much but think, _he kissed me he kissed me he kissed me,_ before his lips are moving in tandem with Harry’s. Instinctively, his hand slips up to clutch at Harry’s wet hair, because Harry’s kissing him, and he just needs to be _closer_. Harry’s arm wraps around his waist, pulling him in. Their bodies fit together so easily that all Louis can think of is, _wow_. 

For a moment, Louis can’t help but feel jealous of everyone who’s kissed Harry before, because Harry kisses with great intention — tenderly, slowly. He kisses Louis like he means it. Like the only moment that matters to him is now, with his lips moving against Louis’. Then Harry’s pulling away, and Louis’ eyes flutter open. He misses it already, misses Harry’s soft lips against his. It’s too dark to tell, but Louis thinks that Harry might be blushing.

“I just,” Harry stammers, and for once, Louis can tell that Harry is _nervous_. “I just saw you standing there and I wanted to.”

It sounds so cheesy. It sounds cheesy, and Harry just fucking kissed him, and everything’s so overwhelming that Louis can’t help but chuckle, running an unsteady hand through his wet hair. “I’ve been standing with you all night, Harry.”

“I know,” Harry says, a bashful smile appearing on his face, and God, he’s so fucking lovely. “I’ve been wanting to do that with you all night.”

Louis’ breath catches in his throat. Everything in his being seems to scream _kiss him again,_ so he can’t help but lean forward and do just that. Harry moves just when Louis does, an automatic reaction. As Harry slides a hand up to his neck, Louis thinks that the second kiss might be every bit as good as the first one. 

When they pull apart, Harry’s hand is still at Louis’ neck, a tender presence. “Let’s go inside,” he says.

———————

As they enter the dark house, the realization that they’re both in a house, _alone,_ crosses Louis’ mind. They’re sharing a fucking bed. They just _kissed_. Anything is fair game now. 

They’re standing in the foyer of the house, except it’s not even a foyer, because the house is too damn small for a foyer. It’s more like the entrance of the house, two feet away from the living room. As they place their shoes on the mat, the atmosphere feels charged, accompanied by an impending silence that makes Louis feel jittery and anxious. 

He should say something. He doesn’t really know what to say.

“Um,” he starts, and that’s all he gets out before Harry is pushing him against the wall, lips latching on to his. 

It’s good, so good, that Louis is glad he didn’t say anything at all. There’s a kind of roughness, and urgency, that wasn’t there before, and Louis can’t help but respond by letting out a soft whimper into Harry’s mouth. Louis should have known that Harry’s intensity in his personality would translate to how he kisses. 

“You’re so,” Harry pants in between their mouths. “Can’t stop myself from wanting you.” The words send a shudder through Louis. Harry wants him. All of him. 

Harry swipes at Louis’ lip with his tongue, biting gently, and Louis feels his eyelashes flutter. Instinctively, his hips tilt up, meeting Harry’s. The friction feels like relief and frustration all at once. With surprise, as Harry grinds lightly against Louis, he realizes that Harry’s hard.

Harry’s already hard. Fuck, Louis wants him. He wants so much. 

“Please,” Louis says, and he doesn’t even care if he sounds desperate, because it’s all that he can say. In one swift movement, Harry sweeps him up in his arms, carrying them towards the bedroom. Harry picks him up so effortlessly, and Louis can’t help but think of how Harry can probably pin him to the wall and fuck him there just like that. 

A possibility that is no longer just a distant thought. Fuck. Louis doesn’t know how he got here, kissing Harry Styles in a damn beach house. 

He’s slightly surprised when Harry sets him down gently on the bed, contradicting the desperate behaviour from before. But when Louis looks back at him, Harry’s gaze is still fixed, intense, pupils blown. There’s no indicator that the roughness in his demeanour has swayed. 

“I want,” Harry says, words coming out raw. “Can I blow you. Please,” and at this point, Louis’ not even sure why Harry is asking. 

Positionally, it’s Harry who has the upper hand, his stance hovering above Louis on the bed. But here he is, asking for Louis’ cock in his mouth with a plea in his eyes. There’s a desperation in his expression that Louis can’t look away from. 

“God,” Louis says, voice rough. The thought of Harry’s mouth at his cock makes him shudder. “Yes.”

At Louis’ go-ahead, Harry answers by capturing Louis’ lips into an eager kiss. Harry’s tongue is slick, wet against his mouth, and all Louis can think of is how good it will be against his dick. 

“Can I take this off,” Harry mutters, tugging at Louis’ damp shirt. Belatedly, Louis realizes that they’re both still wet from their swim. 

Louis nods, fingers tangled in Harry’s hair. Lifting the hem of Louis’ shirt, Harry peels it up and over Louis’ head, tossing it mindlessly before removing his own shirt. Harry’s shirtless glory that Louis had tried to avoid seeing last night is here, right in front of him. Maybe it’s all come full circle.

In the dark, he’s able to make out the blur of tattoos decorating Harry’s ribcage, his hips, his stomach — there seems to be a large one on his stomach — but there’s no time to waste on inspecting them, because Harry’s bringing his lips back to Louis’ neck. As Harry begins kissing over a tender spot there, Louis can’t stop a moan from coming out of him. 

“Gonna mark you here,” Harry says, voice low and rich into Louis’ ear. “That okay?” 

Something about Harry marking him makes Louis shudder, and he offers a jerky nod, too overwhelmed to give a verbal reply. He feels Harry suck at his skin softly, tongue licking over where his teeth had sunk in a moment ago. There’s going to be a definite bruise there tomorrow. Louis doesn’t care.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes, as Harry brings his hand to his chest, then down down down, skimming his waist, past his hip bone. Every touch from Harry makes his skin feel like it’s on fire. Louis hadn’t realized how hard he was until Harry cups the bulge in his pants. Louis exhales in relief, feeling Harry’s hand on top of him. 

“You sound so good like this,” Harry says, a whispering rumble that makes Louis’ toes curl. Louis hadn’t even noticed the sounds coming out of his mouth, but when Harry tongues at a spot behind his ear, a whine comes out, and he realizes that he’s been vocalizing the whole time. 

Damn. Is this what Harry does to him? 

Harry’s mouth moves from his neck down to his chest, leaving slow, burning kisses on what feels like every inch of his skin. Eyes hooded, he looks up at Louis once before bringing his tongue out, swirling around Louis’ left nipple. It’s new stimulation that brings a shudder to Louis’ cock. Louis’ cock, where Harry’s still is, palming softly over fabric. 

Fuck. Louis has never appreciated Harry’s multitasking skills more. He throws his head back, eyes flying shut, and hears Harry chuckle. 

“Sensitive,” Harry says, like he’s stating a mere fact and like Louis isn’t slowly losing his mind, before putting his mouth over Louis’ nipple once more. He tongues over the area in quick, tight circles. If there’s one thing more sensitive than Louis’ dick, it’s his nipples. Louis wants to fucking scream. 

Before Louis breaks down from just Harry’s lips on his chest, Harry breaks away. Pressing kisses down Louis’ torso to his hip, Harry keeps going, until there’s no more bare skin left for him to put his mouth on. Louis draws a breath in anticipation as Harry traces a finger along the hem of Louis’ swim trunks, lifting them ever so slightly. 

He doesn’t hook his finger into Louis’ trunks, like Louis had expected. Instead, Harry leans forward, catching the top of Louis’ trunks with his teeth, and drags them down. 

_Fuck,_ Louis thinks as he watches his cock bob free, Harry’s trunks caught between his teeth. Immediately, Harry lets go of the fabric and spreads Louis’ knees apart, inching closer until he’s face level with Louis’ cock. 

Harry doesn’t touch Louis immediately. Louis isn’t surprised that Harry would be a fucking tease. 

“God,” Louis grits out as Harry stares up at him from beneath his eyelashes, large hands on Louis’ thighs. “Can you just fucking _get on with it,_ Styles,” he breathes out, aware of how shot his voice sounds. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry says, looking pleased, and brings his face to nuzzle at Louis’ balls instead. Louis feels his hands tremble when Harry starts to mouth at them, tugging gently. It’s maddening. 

If there’s one thing Louis knows about Harry, it’s that he doesn’t take too well to threats. “You’re such a damn tease,” Louis musters up all his physical strength, “And if you don’t touch my dick, I swear I’m going to leave —” 

He’s cut off, because Harry’s lips are sinking over his cock, and _finally._ It’s a sight to behold, watching Harry’s mouth bobbing up and down, gliding along skin, leaving behind a shine of spit on Louis’ cock. It feels so good, a relief of sorts, and Louis feels himself sink into the bed when Harry drags his tongue along his dick. When Harry reaches the tip, he looks up at Louis, eyes fixed as he flattens his tongue along the head, swiping a bead of precum from the slit. Despite the breathtaking view, Louis can’t keep his eyes off of Harry, eyes falling shut like he’s savouring the taste. It might be the hottest thing Louis has ever seen. 

When Harry brings a hand to join his mouth, covering all of Louis’ skin, Louis all but drops his head into the sheets. There’s too much going on. Louis might die. 

“Shit.” Louis throws an arm over his face as Harry sucks on the head, running a tongue along the sensitive underside of his cock. “Harry.”

Then Harry’s pulling off, and Louis opens his eyes to see Harry’s face hovering above his, hair falling over his face. Gently, he draws Louis into a kiss, before murmuring, “I want to feel you here,” and suddenly, Louis feels a soft touch against his hole. 

Just the thought of it makes his hole flutter around the pad of Harry’s finger. Louis wants that. He wants it so much, he can’t do anything but nod at Harry wordlessly as Harry brushes his finger around his hole again, before disappearing and coming back with a bottle of lube. 

“Where did you get that from,” Louis squawks, while Harry pours a decent amount onto his fingers, warming it up. 

In response, Harry winks. “Not telling.”

Louis replays their entire Walmart trip in his mind. Harry hadn’t been out of his sight for a second. “You,” Louis starts as Harry clambers back onto the bed, arms boxing Louis in. “You had that the whole time.”

“Maybe,” Harry says, cheeky grin on his face. Louis wants to kiss it right off, but he’s too turned on to even lift his head up.

“You gonna tell me why,” Louis breathes, as Harry begins to circle his rim.

Harry pauses for a moment, biting down on his lip, and he might be the only person who can make the action look simultaneously hot and sincere. Based on the current situation, maybe both. 

And Louis had been worried about bringing ass pants. 

“I was hopeful,” Harry says, so genuine, bringing a leap in Louis’ chest. Louis wants to lean in and kiss him senseless, when he feels Harry slip a finger inside and suddenly Louis can’t even think anymore. 

It’s hard not to feel vulnerable, cock out and hole exposed, but Harry’s looking at him like something that resembles awe, his finger pushing inside Louis gently, so gently, like he wants to make this good for him. Louis doesn’t understand why. 

“Baby,” Harry says, the name bringing flutters to Louis’ chest. Then Harry’s bending down again, covering Louis’ mouth with his own. They kiss slowly as Harry’s fingers reach deeper inside Louis. There’s a brush against Louis’ prostate, and he hears himself gasp into Harry’s mouth. 

“Feel good?” Harry mutters, smiling against Louis’ lips. The way that Harry is pleasantly looking up at him, soft expression in his eyes, is something that Louis doesn’t know if he can handle. 

He thinks about delivering a snappy remark, just to get the upper hand, when he feels another finger probe at his rim and suddenly he feels just a little bit more full than he was five seconds ago.

“Don’t,” Harry insists, when Louis bites down on his lip. “I love hearing it.” 

There’s a sincerity in Harry’s voice that makes Louis let go of any lingering restraint, especially when Harry foregoes teasing, and beginning to move purposefully instead. Louis had always known that Harry had long fingers. He’s grateful to be getting a firsthand experience.

But there’s no point in holding it in now, and Louis bypasses all self consciousness to allow the sounds to come out. “God, baby,” Harry says, tone appreciative. “Sound so good. Feel so good, so warm inside.” It turns out that Harry’s the kind of person who won’t stop delivering compliments as his finger is inside someone’s ass. But Harry’s words are so candid, so genuine, that Louis can’t help but blush contentedly, squirming in pleasure. He has a feeling that Harry means it every comment. 

“Wanna know how it feels like when I fill you up,” Harry’s saying, and Louis can’t help but picture what it’s like for Harry to push inside him, sweat framing his face, feeling even fuller than he is right now. For Harry to come inside. 

Then Harry’s pulling his body back, and Louis watches as Harry envelops his cock again with his mouth, fingers still tight inside of Louis. The double sensation is too much to handle, pleasure from Harry curling his fingers inside him and his cock being surrounded by warm, wet heat. Everything is a cloud, and Louis arches his back intuitively. A familiar spark begins to rise from within, waiting for release. 

“Harry, I’m gonna,” Louis manages. It’s an attempt at a warning, but Harry doesn’t seem to show any sign of pulling off. He chooses to pin Louis’ hip to the bed instead, preventing him from any movement. 

It’s the very action that makes Louis gasp, paired with Harry pressing right on his prostate, that makes Louis tilt his head back. With a loud whine, Louis comes into Harry’s mouth, Harry sucking him down throughout all of it, and Harry — Harry fucking _swallows_. 

When Louis regains his senses, he lifts himself up on his elbows to see Harry still at his feet. He looks a little bashful, cheeks red, and it’s only when Louis directs his gaze below that he realizes that Harry’s shoved his swim trunks down. His hand is wrapped around his own cock, stroking hastily.

Louis can’t look away, not when Harry’s got his hand on his dick, a length that seems to match the size of his large hand. Harry, in turn, isn’t looking at anything else but Louis. Louis, spent and exposed on the bed. He feels his dick twitch again in arousal, because what a sight to behold. 

“You can come on me,” Louis hears himself saying, and there should be a part of him offering to get Harry off, but the sight of Harry touching himself is just something that Louis doesn’t want to let go of, not yet. He needs to see this.

Quickly, Harry scrambles to his feet, pulling his yellow shorts down. “Where can I,” he says hesitantly, eyes wild.

“Anywhere,” Louis says. He doesn’t care. He just wants to see Harry, eyes closed, releasing himself all over him.

Harry’s got his lip in between his teeth. “Your ass,” he blurts, as if the words came out of its own accord. Louis can’t help but groan in arousal, knowing that Harry’s got a thing for his hole, Harry wants to _come against his hole._

“Yes,” Louis tells him, and Harry surges forward as soon as he says it, lining his cock up with Louis’ ass, close enough to just touch. 

It’s hot. There’s a part of Louis that wishes that he hadn’t come yet, not when Harry’s got his cock so close to Louis’ lube-covered rim, so close that he could just move forward and Harry could just push it right in. Like a magnet, Louis can’t help but inch a little bit closer, just a little bit, until he feels Harry’s soft head poke at the entrance. 

As his cock drags against Louis’ hole, Harry’s eyes widen, mouth open as he holds Louis’ gaze, and Louis can’t look away. With a gasp, Harry jerks, hot come spitting all over Louis’ hole, eyelids falling shut. As Harry comes down from the end of his orgasm, he blinks his eyes open, lethargically, like he’s coming back into the world. He looks so lovely, and Louis wants to kiss him.

Louis doesn’t usually kiss people after they’ve come, but there’s something about seeing Harry, hair disheveled, lips slightly swollen, that makes Louis want to change that.

Louis doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone who looked so beautiful. 

So he leans forward, bending down to kiss Harry, who’s beaming as he tilts up to meet Louis. Then Louis remembers that Harry’s just come all over his hand, and jerks back. 

“Shit,” Louis says. “We should get you cleaned up.”

Harry nods, glancing down at the mess in his hand, and giggles, fucking _giggles._ “I just came in my hand like a teenager,” he tells Louis, and there’s something so charming about it that Louis can’t help but kiss the pleased smile off his face. 

“You’re so cute,” Louis says, the words slipping out. By the way that Harry blushes sweetly, eyes shining, it’s worth it. It’s an expression that Louis tucks into his mind for later. 

When Harry files into the bathroom, Louis waits until he hears the water running and he sinks into the bed, head in his hands.

Harry kissed Louis. They had sex, technically. Louis waits for the internal conflict to hit him, the inevitable inward dispute of _what about your soulmate,_ but it never comes. 

Instead of the anticipated struggle of debate, Louis thinks about Harry’s beaming face after Louis had kissed him back, the way Harry had opened him so tenderly, with great care. Harry’s eyes when he had said, _I’ve been wanting to do that with you all night._

Perhaps it’s the fact that it’s Harry, that makes Louis feel at peace, instead of the unsettling feeling he had anticipated. He wonders if he _should_ feel unsettled.

But then Harry comes out of the shower with his hair wet, eyes lit up when he sees Louis still on the bed, and Louis only feels butterflies. When Harry makes a beeline to kiss Louis, Louis realizes that for once in his life, he really doesn’t care. 

———————

Louis thinks that he appreciates the ocean even more tonight, as they lay together in bed, with Harry’s head on Louis’ chest. They listen to the waves lap against the shore, the ocean’s own tranquil soundtrack – and allow themselves to be lulled into a state of contentment. 

After Louis had gotten out of the shower, Harry had immediately pulled him down onto the bed, and they had automatically fallen into each other without another word. Louis didn’t know it would be this nice, for Harry to be in his arms. Harry’s hair tickles Louis’ chin. It’s a physical reminder that he’s here. 

Enough time passes that Louis begins to reach past the stage of satiety and into another stage, like _should we maybe talk about what just happened._ Just when he’s contemplating how to word things, Harry speaks up.

“Louis.” Harry’s voice is delicate, merged into the sounds of the waves. Yet, it still sounds large to Louis’ ears. 

“Yeah?” Louis says, flickering his eyes to Harry.

A pause. “This feels nice,” Harry says, and even though Louis can’t see him, there’s something in Harry’s tone that Louis recognizes as timidity. 

“It does,” Louis agrees, wrapping his arms a little tighter around Harry. Harry makes a happy noise, which makes Louis feel pleased, pleased that Harry feels nice, pleased that he can make Harry feel nicer. 

Another moment of silence crawls by, and Harry says, “You know why I kissed you, right?”

“Because I’m just so undeniably attractive?” Louis jokes, because, okay, they’re having this conversation now. Joking could be necessary for whatever the outcome of this conversation turns out to be.

“It’s only your bum,” Harry quips, and, _good_. If Harry’s joking about it, things can’t go that bad, right? Louis feels himself release a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. Some of the tension in the room lifts. 

“Knew it, Styles,” Louis says breezily. “Knew you only liked me for my bum.” 

It slips out without Louis intending for it to. He freezes, because he’s wondering if it’s too soon, and fuck, what if he misread things, because that could be possible too, and he only meant _like_ in the platonic way, anyway, right. 

But Harry responds just as quick, with, “I like you for so many reasons,” and Louis feels his breath stutter a little bit. 

It’s all he can do to keep his voice light as he tries to be casual about it, fingers carding through Harry’s hair. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, turning his head up to look at Louis. His expression is so lovely, so open, that Louis realizes, _he means it._

Looking at Harry’s face, a weight that Louis didn’t know was there lifts off of his chest. “What are they, then?” Louis says. 

“Well,” Harry starts. By the definitive tone of Harry’s voice, Louis expects him to list off a series of sarcastic reasons, and is surprised when he says, “First off, you’re extremely caring.” 

Louis’ heart rate begins to speed up as Harry continues, “I’ve seen how you’re so lovely with everyone at the office, and your own friends, too. You pick on Liam day and night, but you bring him a beer without asking, and you brush crumbs off his shirt. You harass Zayn for fixing his hair too much but you even fix it for him, sometimes.”

“Harry,” Louis begins, but Harry shushes him, looking up at Louis to put a finger to his lips. And Louis remains quiet as Harry rattles off more points. 

“Second, I love your mind so much. You’re so funny, and clever, and you’re always thinking a step ahead. It’s all kind of sexy, if you didn’t know.” Louis sputters. 

“You’re also beautiful, probably the most gorgeous man I’ve seen,” Harry continues, and oh God, this kid shows no sign of stopping. How did Louis even find him.

“You know you already got into my pants, right, Harry?” Louis says, trying for a humorous tone to hide how his insides are shaking. Instead, his voice ends up coming out soft. Harry Styles is reducing him to bashfulness. What is happening. 

“I know,” Harry says, snuggling deeper into Louis’ arms, and his voice sounds so cute and content that Louis’ heart might fucking melt. “But I wanted to get into your heart.”

And Louis full on laughs, guffawing, partly because of how ridiculous the words are, partly because of how he can’t believe that this is happening. “My heart.”

If there were any doubts about whether Harry Styles liked him, everything would be swished away as of this moment. Right now, Louis has never been so certain. Even if Harry hasn’t flat out said the words _I like you._ Just based on how his eyes are crinkled, shining at Louis, Harry doesn’t have to. 

With Harry here, cocooned in their own little corner of the world, in a secluded beach town — it feels serene. It feels right, even.

“Well, Harry.” Louis purses his lips, holding Harry’s gaze. “I only like you because of your ability to eat a whole lettuce in one sitting.” And it’s out there, he said it. He feels giddy, like he has a schoolgirl crush. 

Harry smirks. “Knew it,” he says, but there’s a hint of joy that stems from Louis’ mutual confession. They settle against each other happily, like two cats nestled into a ball. 

“I’m really glad to have met you,” Louis confesses. And maybe it’s a vulnerable statement. But for some reason, Louis feels anything but. 

Harry smiles gently at Louis, his expression so open, so sincere, that Louis doesn’t regret his vulnerable statement. Louis leans down to kiss him, and Harry meets halfway. 

They fall asleep in each other’s arms, just like that.


	6. six

_no matter how far we get, oceans we are in still connect_  
_and when the currents circle back again,_  
_they’ll carry us with them to the arms of the same sea._

lights, "same sea"

———————

There had been a small, fearful part of Louis anticipating that the morning would be awkward, a noticeable shift from where they were before in their friendship. There was a nagging flicker of doubt that _maybe_ things would be weird, and, _what if everything was only in the heat of the moment_ , and, _what if Harry actually doesn’t like him like that_ , what if, what if, what if. 

But when the morning comes, none of Louis’ fears ever manifest. When Louis opens his eyes at 7 AM, it’s to Harry gently kissing his cheek awake. It might be the best sight that Louis has ever woken up to. He gets out of bed with the largest smile on his face. It’s not a bad way to start the morning.

Even the drive back isn’t awkward. Frankly, it all feels just the same as it was when they were just friends, laughing and squabbling and poking at one another. Except for the fact that Louis doesn’t have to rein in his frustration anymore, and he’s allowed to kiss Harry whenever he wants. He ends up doing just that, stealing kisses in the car, when Harry’s filling the car with gas. He also may or may not give Harry a hand job in the backseat thank him for last night. It might not be the best place, especially since it’s a rental car. But when Harry gasps into Louis’ mouth, convulsing just from his touch, Louis can’t really bring himself to care. 

There’s relief in everything he does with Harry, like release after holding in everything he’s felt for him throughout the past month. So, yeah. It all feels just as easy as it was before, maybe even easier. 

Louis read once, somewhere, about how love is just friendship caught on fire. Or something like that. But maybe that’s what it is, Louis thinks, as Harry tries to fit two Pringles in his mouth like a duck and ends up accidentally crushing them.

He doesn’t stop smiling, not even when they end up stuck in traffic for two hours, not even when they pass the state border back into New York. Not even when Harry’s pulling up to his apartment and sweetly kisses him goodbye, and he floats up the stairs like a cloud carrying him to the door. 

Louis doesn’t think about his soulmate once. 

———————

“So. I want to make you a proposition,” Louis says, on Wednesday afternoon. His sandwich hasn’t been touched. Probably because he’s been too nervous to eat for the past ten minutes.

Harry looks up. “What?”

Louis clears his throat. “I want to take you out,” he announces. “On a date.”

It’s been three days since they’ve gotten back from the trip. If he were to be honest, Louis had been anticipating their first day back in the office, unsure of how things were going to go on from there. But when Harry had turned up at his office, as usual, bashfully pressing a kiss to Louis’ cheek, Louis had all but felt flutters in his stomach. 

So it’s like this, now. Lunch is the same as it always is, but it’s now with Harry tracing shapes on Louis’ hand and Louis brushing the curls away from Harry’s face. It’s physical touch with Harry that Louis wasn’t even aware that his body had been yearning for, until suddenly, he had the permission to have free rein. And now Louis can’t keep his hands off. He wants to poke his finger into Harry’s dimple to see how far it goes. He wants to kiss Harry until his lips are swollen. 

All Louis can think about every day is lunch with Harry. Which may not differ too much from before, but now, he _allows_ himself to think about lunch with Harry, allows himself to be excited. But one hour, Louis has learned, is never enough time. Not even with the frequent coffee breaks or when Harry walks him to the train station. And that’s all Louis wants, with Harry. More time. 

Time, as in, a date. He’d like to take Harry on a date. A proper date, with lovely intentions and a night of kissing and sappy shit. He is becoming a sappy shit. 

But by the way Harry’s looking at him, hopeful eyes and all, it doesn’t seem as if he minds. And that is good. Very good, in fact.

“Yeah?” Harry’s got a giddy smile on his face, stretching wider. “Is that so?”

Louis shrugs, trying to give an air of nonchalance. “I mean. If you want, Styles.”

“I want,” Harry says quickly, and Louis loves how eager Harry is, not giving a shit about how enthusiastic he sounds. It’s genuine. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

 _Love to._ Louis doesn’t bother hiding his smile when he says, “Alright. I guess we’ll go on a date, then.”

There’s a good ten seconds of where they’re grinning madly at each other, a reciprocated sense of anticipation in the air. And then Louis remembers: “Friday? How about then?” 

Friday, because ever since they’ve come back from North Carolina, they’ve got a bit of material to cover from the photoshoot. And Friday, because maybe Harry can spend the night.

Louis hopes he wants to spend the night.

Harry nods, his hair bouncing. It seems as if his hair is getting longer every day. Turning into proper curls, and all. Louis thinks that there’s a high likelihood that he’s going to love it. He twists a finger around a curl, watching Harry contemplate his schedule with a pensive look on his face.

“I think Friday is good,” Harry says.

“Okay then,” Louis says, delicately tucking the curl behind his ear. Harry looks up at him beneath his eyelashes, and he looks so tender that Louis wants to burst. 

There might be a possibility that Harry Styles makes Louis feel an abundance of emotions. Well, then. Maybe he’s okay with that now. 

“My sister is coming to town tomorrow,” Louis tells Harry, taking a sip of his tea. They’ve been drinking tea lately, because Harry’s taken the opportunity to buy a kettle. _For both of us to use,_ Harry had claimed, brandishing it to Louis in the brand new box. Despite Harry having bought the kettle, it’s been sitting in Louis’ office.

“Lottie, right? The second oldest one?” Harry asks, and Louis feels a bubble of fondness, because Louis is sure he’s only mentioned Lottie’s age once. Yet, Louis wouldn’t be surprised if Harry had already memorized all of his siblings' names, ages and favourite colours. Fuck. 

Louis nods. “That’s her.”

“You worried about meeting Austin?” Harry says. 

“Not really,” Louis replies, but as soon as he says it, he doesn’t know if it’s true. It’s Lottie’s soulmate, and he should be perfect for her, but still — it’s someone she’s paired with for life. 

“I’m sure he’ll be great,” Harry says, voicing Louis’ worry before he even has a chance to say it out loud. 

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, and something in Harry’s tone sounds sincere, genuine. He feels himself relaxing, and takes a breath. “Yeah,” he says again, a bit more sure. “I’m sure he will.”

———————

Louis really should have cleaned up his apartment earlier. He should clean up his apartment in general. There are a lot of things he should do in general. 

So here he is, madly dashing through his apartment like a cartoon character, speed-cleaning various areas in the room. Fix the cushions here, pick up a bottle here, dust the table there. And clean the bedsheets. Oh God, Louis forgot about the bedsheets. That’s fine. He can get them done before Lottie gets here. 

He’s in the middle of wrangling the wet bedsheets into the dryer when he receives a text. _Just landed,_ it reads. Louis checks and double checks that there’s no cat hair in the guest room, before grabbing his keys and throwing himself out of the door. 

As always, JFK is crowded. Luckily, it only takes Louis a few seconds to find his sister among the bustling crowds. Blonde hair, sunglasses on top of her head, waving excitedly — that’s Lottie, alright. Upon seeing her flailing hands, Louis realizes just how much he had missed her. 

Lottie flies into his arms, crushing the badly decorated sign Louis had been holding. She smells like something floral and maybe vanilla and _home._

“Oh my God,” Lottie says as they pull apart, horror visible on her face. “That is the ugliest sign.”

Louis feigns innocence. “You mean you don’t like your name spelled out in pink glitter?” He looks down at the freckles of glitter that have now flown onto his shirt. He dusts it off disdainfully. Glitter, Louis has learned in the past day, is a fucking mess to use. 

A tall redhead who had been lagging behind materializes behind Lottie, and ah. That must be Austin.

“This is Austin,” Lottie confirms, grin on her face as Austin joins them with a friendly wave. 

As Louis accepts his handshake, he notices Austin’s matched eyes. How the slightly darker blue he had familiarized himself with for the past twenty years is no longer present in Lottie, and is in him, instead. 

“Nice to meet you,” Louis tells him, offering him a warm smile. When Austin pulls back next to Lottie, Louis can’t help but recognize how good they look together. “So. Any baggage we need to get?” 

“No, we’re good,” Lottie replies, with a shake of the head. 

“Shall we go for dinner, then?”

“Yes, please,” Lottie says, drawing the words out. “I’m bloody fucking starving.”

Louis smiles, slinging an arm over his sister’s shoulder as she rattles on about the flight from London. How _oh my God Louis there was a baby crying the whole time and I completely understand why but I already had a headache._

They make their way along the streets of Brooklyn, trudging under a blanket of summer heat. It’s something that Louis has gotten used to by now, for the most part. When he looks over at Lottie, she’s fanning her face in contempt. Lottie suffering during a New York summer is a sight that Louis can only laugh at.

The weather drives them into a pizza place near Louis’ house, one of his favorite places in Brooklyn. The air conditioning is a relief, and over margherita and pepperoni, Louis gets to know Austin. 

He learns that Austin is an elementary school teacher with an affinity for surfing, which is cool, because Lottie did always want a man who would be good with children. Louis has no doubt that he would get along with his two younger siblings. Louis asks him about ideal surfing spots, which leads Austin to launch into a story of bumping into a student on vacation once. 

As Austin describes the multiple times his student ended up following him everywhere around Disneyland, Lottie laughs so hard that water dribbles from her mouth. Rather than being embarrassed, like Louis had anticipated, she continues to laugh, which, as a result, makes them laugh. Austin, in turn, wipes Lottie’s spat water from the table without hesitation. 

As the night passes on, it becomes more and more clear that Lottie and Austin fit _well_. Even when they’re not talking to each other, they seem attuned to each other’s movements, each other’s words. Louis can’t help but feel lucky to witness such a thing, watching her sister match so perfectly with somebody else. 

“So,” Lottie says, as they’re waiting for dessert. “Is there anything new with you?” Lottie’s waggling eyebrows suggest the content of news she’s looking for. 

Louis rolls his eyes, but is unable to fight the embarrassed grin on his face. “Why do you assume that something’s new?”

“You’re happier,” Lottie tosses out, crossing her legs. 

Louis pretends to be offended. Maybe acting offended would help him avoid answering the question. “So you’re saying I’m usually walking around like the Grim Reaper?”

“Yes,” Lottie says, as Austin laughs. “You’re insulting me less today. A rare occurrence, you know.”

“I’m insulting you less because I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your soulmate,” Louis counters.

“You’re not fooling me,” Lottie says, shrugging. “Out with it. Tell me who you’ve been seeing.”

Of course Lottie doesn’t buy it. Louis _could_ lie. Louis is very good at lying when he wants to be. 

“His name is Harry,” he says instead.

Lottie begins to squeal. From his peripheral vision, Louis catches a few customers turning their heads to glare at them. Oops. 

“Wow,” Lottie exhales. “Harry,” she repeats, and to hear Lottie repeat Harry’s name makes Louis’ heart skip a beat. Like maybe, now that Lottie knows, it might mean something. Maybe it makes it real. 

“What’s he like?” Lottie leans forward in anticipation. 

“He’s cute,” Louis shrugs. He feels a blush coming on. Fuck.

“You’re _blushing,_ ” Lottie points out. Louis’ body is betraying him in every way today, it seems. 

Austin puts a gentle hand on Lottie’s arm. “Babe, maybe we should lower our voices a bit,” he says, like every bit of the schoolteacher he is. Using the communal _we_ for an individual action. It’s a little funny. 

Sure enough, the waitstaff seem to be eyeing their table nervously, contemplating whether they should come over and shush them. 

Lottie downs the rest of her wine determinedly. “It’s alright. We’re done, anyway. Let’s head back?”

The decision to leave has been made, so they head out, grabbing their stuff to leave. Louis makes sure to tip the waitstaff a little extra. Lottie squealing can cause quite a commotion. 

“So when do you think I can meet this Harry?” Lottie says, hooking his arm through Louis’ as they walk out, meeting the humid evening air. 

The image of Lottie meeting Harry with every excited bone in her body brings a chuckle to Louis. “Next week, maybe?” he muses. “Before you leave.”

“Ace,” Lottie says. She pauses, before saying, “You know, I’ve never seen you blush over someone before. You’re proper twelve, innit.”

Louis tries to muster the most unimpressed look he can give her. “Shut up.”

“No good comeback, either?” Lottie shakes her head, teasing. “That bad, huh?” 

“I’m going to push you off this sidewalk.”

Lottie raises her nose haughtily. Nonetheless, she sidesteps out of Louis’ reach. “Austin will save me.”

Austin shrugs, the hint of an amused smile on his lips. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Lottie whips her head toward Austin, faking indignation. While Lottie turns her attention to Austin, Louis thinks about whether Harry and Lottie would get along. They probably would, Louis thinks. They would have good banter, perhaps even share some mutual fashion advice. Lottie would really like Harry’s hair, that’s for sure. 

“Why have you got a smile on your face?” Lottie asks, nudging Louis’ ribs. 

“Fuck off,” Louis says. Lottie laughs. 

They take the train home, bellies full of pizza and cheeks red with wine. When Austin politely excuses himself to use the shower, Louis plops down on the sofa next to Lottie.

He waits until the shower is running until he turns to Lottie. “He makes you happy,” he notes, watching as a smile tugs on Lottie’s lips.

She nods solemnly. “He does.” 

Louis smiles, propping an elbow up on a cushion. “He’s good for you,” he remarks.

At that, Lottie beams, as if there could even be a slight chance that her soulmate wouldn’t be good for her. “Thanks,” she says. After a beat, she adds, “It feels good.”

Louis looks at her, genuine happiness on her face, as if she’s settled peacefully into a comforting place in her life. “Yeah?” he says, softly. “What does it feel like?”

A look of consideration appears on her face. Finally, she tilts her head as if she’s come to an appropriate conclusion. “It feels like I’ve known him my whole life,” she says matter-of-factly. 

Louis nods, expecting the telltale pang of whenever anyone talks about their soulmate to come. It doesn’t.

“I think that when you meet someone,” Lottie continues, voice soft, “that you just know if they’re right for you.” 

At that moment, Lottie’s phone rings. She excuses herself, leaving Louis alone on the couch. Alone with nothing but his thoughts.

For some reason, Louis finds himself carrying his sister’s words with him all throughout the night. 

———————

On Thursday, Louis receives Lottie’s permission to kick them out for Friday’s date. “You better get laid if you’re kicking us out!” she had said. Louis had responded by throwing a pillow at her face. 

He’s going grocery shopping now, because he had promised Harry a home-cooked meal. Never mind the fact that he doesn’t know how to cook. At Louis’ proposition, Harry had beamed, and then casually suggested that they make a home-cooked meal together. They both pretend as if it’s not because Louis would burn down his apartment by cooking alone. 

He’s in the middle of the produce aisle, googling the difference between cilantro and coriander, when he receives a call from Harry. 

“Hi,” Louis says. “What’s the difference between cilantro and coriander?”

“They’re the same thing,” Harry replies promptly. “They just call it cilantro in America. Wait, are you not watching Love Island right now?”

Louis checks his watch. “Fuck,” he says. “I’ll have to catch up later.”

“I’ll find a livestream for you,” Harry offers. “Shit is going down right now.” His voice is excited.

“I swear to God, Styles,” Louis threatens, “if you ruin this for me, I will chop your balls off.” 

“Mum’s the word,” Harry says. There’s a beat of silence, accompanied with slight rustling. “I’ve just done a zipping motion with my mouth and threw away the key. Just letting you know, in case you didn’t see it.”

“I did not see it,” Louis replies, deadpan. “Thank you so much.”

“Do Zayn and Liam watch Love Island, by the way?”

“Liam does, sometimes.” Louis remembers that Liam had mentioned the show once. He’s pretty sure he has a thing for Danny. “Zayn is trying to stay away from rubbish television to keep his rep."

“Ah. That’s very Zayn. Well then. Should we invite Liam to our Love Island sessions because he’s watching alone?”

“No,” Louis says quickly. 

“Oh,” Harry says. “Uh. Okay.” 

“Liam’s feet stink,” Louis says, picking up a bunch of coriander and placing it into a bag. He thinks it’s coriander, anyway. Maybe it’s parsley. “We don’t want Liam here.”

He can hear Harry smile through the phone. “Louis, you’re the one who doesn’t wear any socks sometimes.”

“And yet my feet smell better than his,” Louis says. It’s a lie. They both know he’s lying.

Harry laughs while Louis finds his way into the pasta aisle. “Angel hair or spaghettini?” He doesn’t really know the difference. He’s just spouting pasta names out.

“Just normal spaghetti,” Harry replies. “By the way, how has your time been with Lottie and Austin?”

“Really good,” Louis says, and it’s true. This morning, he had woken up to a full English breakfast made by Austin. Bless Lottie and her universe-given soulmate, honestly. “They fit really well together.”

“That’s great. I’d love to meet her.”

“You should,” Louis says. “She’d love you.”

“I’d probably love her.” Despite the positive statement, Louis still notices the hesitation in Harry’s voice. 

“You alright?” Louis says, before wondering if it’s nothing. Harry had only lowered his voice a little bit. It’s probably nothing.

Silence passes by for a beat before he hears Harry let out the faintest of exhales, and says, “Do you think your sister will think we’re right for each other? Because, you know.”

 _Because we’re not soulmates._ The implication is there, hidden behind Harry’s wavering words, and the uncertainty in his voice makes Louis wish that they weren’t restricted by phone. He wants so badly to reach out to Harry. 

“Harry,” Louis assures him, emphasizing the word. “She’s not going to think that.” 

There’s another moment where Harry is silent, and Louis knows that there’s more to this. He waits patiently. 

Finally, Harry says, “I don’t know if this means anything, and you don’t have to feel pressured to say anything back. But I really like you, Louis.”

It’s a declaration that seems too big, that shouldn’t be contained within a mere phone conversation, and Louis wishes so badly that they were in the same room, right now. Louis’ feet come to a stop in front of the penne and ravioli as Harry continues. 

“I don’t know if I was what you were looking for. And that’s okay if I’m not. I just. I love being with you,” Harry confesses. His words are rushed now, like a free-flowing current downstream. “I just have the best time when we’re together, and it just feels so easy, and so good, and maybe it shouldn’t, but it does.” 

“Harry,” Louis says, and there it is. He feels the dam of emotion threatening to break. All he wants is to be there, with Harry, right now, instead of standing in front of a row of pasta boxes. 

“I don’t know anything. I don’t think it even matters,” Louis admits, and even as he’s saying it, he realizes how true this is. There’s no fiber in his being that contests against it. “All I know is that it feels like I’m the best version of me, when I’m with you.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, voice gentle, and Louis just wants to curl up in it. 

“You know,” Harry’s words are a murmur. “Maybe it’s a good thing we never found our soulmates, because this feels right, you know?”

Somehow, Harry’s words make sense. Maybe it’s fucked up, Louis realizes. Both him and Harry met their soulmates, lost them, and found each other instead. It _should_ feel fucked up, Louis thinks as he looks up at the grocery store lights with a smile on his face. 

It doesn’t feel that way at all. 

———————

Louis spends the entirety of the next day at work bouncing on his toes. He’s aware that he probably looks like a hyperactive five-year old. Harry calls him out on it. 

“You look like you had too much sugar,” Harry observes, as Louis jiggles his leg up and down. 

“I’m excited,” Louis confesses. Maybe it’s too much to admit to the person he likes that he’s eager for their date tonight, but Harry’s elated expression tells Louis that the feeling is very much reciprocated. Especially when he whispers, “Me too,” with a grin. 

Louis sticks his tongue out in response, because there’s only so much cheesiness they can give in to at work.

The rest of the day passes by uneventfully and slowly, but eventually, 5 PM arrives. 

“Come over at eight,” Louis says, as they part ways outside. He tugs on Harry’s belt loop, and Harry comes easily. 

“Okay,” Harry agrees. “Just warning you, I might be coming from a workout. So I could be sweaty.”

“In that case, I don’t want you in my living quarters,” Louis says. “Stinking up my flat.”

Harry laughs before ducking in to kiss Louis on the cheek. When he pulls away, his cheeks are slightly flushed. “I’m not kissing you on the mouth before our first date,” he says.

“Chivalry is dead, Harold,” Louis tells him. “Haven’t you heard?” 

“I don’t know,” Harry says, his voice dropping low. “I was looking forward to having you ride me tonight.”

Louis sputters indignantly, and Harry laughs before saluting him and walking away. Which isn’t fair. Louis spends an inordinate amount of time standing in shock before forcing his legs to walk away. 

Not that sex was off the table. With Lottie and Austin resolving to stay at a friend’s place in Manhattan for the night, it was actually more than likely that something would happen between the sheets. One thing at a time, though. 

Louis manages to get home in one piece, without thinking too much about riding Harry; this was good, because Louis really did not need those visions in his head while taking public transit. He’s a man on a mission, and that mission involves cleaning his damn house again, for the second time this week. His mum would be proud.

It’s a lot of cleaning for a week. For Louis, anyway, who usually cleans every two months. Because he’s a trash person. 

“Be nice,” he tells Lucy, who has just materialized from behind a curtain. Lucy gives him a look, an expression that might convey something along the lines of _I am nice to everyone just not you because you’re a dimwit._ Fair enough. 

_My cat might end up liking you more than me,_ he texts Harry before he starts to vacuum. An hour passes by without a reply, before Louis remembers that Harry’s probably at the gym or something, like he had mentioned beforehand.

Cleaning shouldn't take this long. Then again, the extra time might attribute to how, for the first time in a long time, Louis is also mopping the floor today. He’s really going all in. 

Thankfully, he finishes cleaning, which gives him — maybe ten minutes — to prep his ingredients before Harry arrives. When Louis’ phone vibrates, he puts the coriander aside, checking it to see if Harry has replied. It’s not from Harry. It’s from Lottie. 

_LOUIS I HAVe BUG NEWS_

Bug news. Bug news?

A new text appears right below the previous one. 

_BIG NEWS SORRY._

_Ok,_ Louis writes back. Knowing Lottie, the big news could range from finding a new mole on her leg to meeting a famous celebrity on the street. 

Okay. Where was he? Oh right. Coriander. Louis sighs. 

In the middle of chopping coriander, the texts keep pinging. Louis doesn’t have time to hear about Lottie’s gossip right now, especially when Harry’s due to arrive any minute. He needs to cut this damn coriander. Preferably before Harry can see his struggle and consequently make fun of him for it.

 _I have to talk to you,_ the notification screen briefly flashes, before turning back to black. Fuck. Did Louis accidentally get parsley instead?

His phone rings, and _shit_ , Harry is here, and he is not ready, definitely not ready. 

“Hello?”

“I’m here,” Harry says, voice accompanied by the street noises outside Louis’ apartment. 

“Door’s unlocked.” Louis buzzes him up, before turning to his fridge. He needs to get the tomatoes before Harry comes up. He needs to look prepared, damn it. 

A minute later, his phone sounds out another ring, and what, is his buzzer not working again? Louis makes a mental note to speak to his landlord before picking up his phone for the second time. “Did the buzzer not work?” Louis asks. 

“Louis,” he hears, a breathy rasp, and it’s Lottie. Louis puts her on speakerphone. 

“Hey Lotts,” he says. “I really can’t talk right now —“

“It’s important. God _damn_ it, Louis, listen to me.”

“Did you see Bradley Cooper?” Louis asks, examining the tomatoes inside the produce bag. His tomatoes look a little bruised. Hm. 

“No, God. I wish,” Lottie sighs. “Actually, though,” she continues, tacking on a serious tone. “This is actually, honest-to-God, important.”

“Okay,” he says, because if Lottie deems a situation to be more important than Bradley Cooper, something must be up. He wonders if he should be worried. “Okay.”

“I was at this yoga class in Greenwich,” she says, and Louis doesn’t know how a yoga class could possibly apply to him. As he’s mulling over this sentence, he hears the front door open. “Honestly, I don’t even know how it happened.”

“How what happened?” He takes the tomatoes out. They are indeed bruised. 

Lottie lets out a quick exhale. “Your soulmate, Louis. He was there. The tattoo you described. I think I found your soulmate.”

At Lottie’s statement, Louis is only aware of two things. One, the tomatoes have fallen onto the floor, and two, Harry is standing at the kitchen door, gloriously sweaty, and this is something Louis definitely can’t handle right now. Because Harry looks frozen, shell-shocked. Unmoving. 

“Louis?” Lottie’s voice is only a mere sound, pricking at the edge of Louis’ sensory systems. He can barely hear her. All that his senses can gauge is Harry’s still figure, eyes wide.

“Lottie.” Louis doesn’t mean for his voice to be sharp. “I’ll call you back.” He hangs up, every inch of him on alert, and immediately reaches towards Harry. 

Harry jolts away from Louis’ touch, and Louis feels something deep inside him sink. The room feels too small, and yet Harry seems so far away, even though there can’t be more than ten feet that separate them. 

“I’m,” Harry starts, words stumbling. “I’m happy for you. Truly, I am.” He fumbles out of the kitchen, and _no no no,_ it cannot end like this, it _can’t_. 

“Harry,” Louis cries, and trips over the tomatoes he had dropped. “Fuck!” 

By the time Louis has picked up the tomatoes and rushed to his door, Harry’s already gone. There’s no one standing at the elevator. Harry must have taken the stairs. 

“Fuck,” Louis spits out. Reaching for his phone, he frantically calls Harry. No response. 

He returns to his apartment in a daze. Logically, the news of having possibly found his soulmate should make him happy, should make him feel like calling Lottie immediately to get more details. And yet, in Louis’ head, as of this very moment, he finds himself wanting nothing more to speak to Harry.

What would he even say? What _could_ he even say to Harry if Lottie had actually found his soulmate? He doesn’t fucking know. He still finds himself trying to call Harry multiple times, to no avail, because Harry won’t fucking pick up. After the fifth attempt, he falls onto the sofa in defeat.  
  
He doesn’t know how long he sits there for. It must be long enough, because even Lucy seems concerned enough to come over and mewl at his feet. At least this one particular situation has garnered sympathy from his apathetic cat. 

When he checks his phone again, he’s alerted that an hour has already passed by. There are no texts from Harry, no calls. There are, however, a few texts from Lottie, which remind Louis that he never even finished his conversation with her before he rudely hung up.

He opens her messages wearily. 

_i’m sorry if i caught you at a bad time_

_we don’t know it might not even be him_

_It’s ok,_ Louis texts back. He feels drained. He’s overwhelmed and just so, so exhausted. 

The rest of the night passes by with Louis operating on autopilot. He cleans up the tomatoes on the floor, puts the ingredients back in the fridge, and eats a plain buttered bagel, because putting cheese on a bagel takes too much energy that he doesn’t have. He climbs into bed.

There’s no way Louis can fall asleep. Not tonight, with all these thoughts running through his mind. Tonight turns out to be another instance of staring at the ceiling, except, instead of thinking about his soulmate, he’s thinking about Harry. And it’s funny, because now he’s not losing sleep over his _lost_ soulmate, no, he’s staying up worrying about Harry and about how inconvenient it was to _find_ his soulmate. Now, of all times. When things were finally going so well in his life.

He doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know how to cope with coming to the closest lead he’s had in years, of finding his soulmate. He doesn’t even know if he feels relieved.

All he can think about is Harry, Harry’s quivering lip and the stunned expression on his face when he walked into the kitchen. Harry, carding his fingers through his hair. Harry, with his barking laugh whenever Louis said something outrageous.

It’s better not to think. So he closes his eyes and forces himself to sleep. 

Sleep doesn’t come until three hours later.

———————

Throughout the night, Louis keeps waking up to check his phone. In hopes that, maybe _this time,_ Harry would have texted back. Even if it’s 4 AM. But a text from Harry never comes, and none of Louis’ incessant calls are returned, either. Based on how Harry’s phone keeps going to voicemail, Louis is going to assume that Harry’s phone is turned off.

What he does get, though, are texts from the boys, who aren’t any help whatsoever. Louis jolts awake to a ping at six and snatches his phone, only to see a “ _Hey lads do u no where harry is lols”_ from Niall. 6 AM. He guesses that Harry hadn’t returned home last night.

Zayn’s awake too, apparently, because a text comes through right after:

_if he’s not in his own bed he’s probably in louis’_

Ha. This couldn’t be further from the truth, and it sends a flash of irritation through Louis, because how can Zayn be so _insensitive_ at a moment like this, before Louis has to remind himself that no one knows what’s going on, including Zayn. He sighs. He _could_ tell them what’s going on. But he’s tired, so tired. So he opts for the simplest response.

_He’s not here._

A text from Liam comes through.

_Look at this chair!!!!!!_

Louis stares at his phone in confusion.

_Whoops sorryyyy haha I meant to send that to my mum I found this funny chair that looked like a cat! Loooool :P_

The boys are all useless. Louis is too exhausted to deal with Liam’s shenanigans. He puts his phone away.

Lottie and Austin return home to find Louis sat on the couch, staring at his untouched cup of tea. Right away, Austin quietly retreats to the bedroom, probably sensing that this is not the best time to say hello to Louis. Lottie sits down next to him quietly.

“I’m sorry,” she says again. Louis hates that his sister’s apologizing for potentially finding his soulmate. It’s not something people would usually be apologizing for. 

Louis gives her a small smile. “It’s not your fault.”

Lottie bites her lip, looking at Louis apologetically. “For what it’s worth, it might be nobody. I don’t even know. I honestly thought it was, and I had to call you.” 

With what little energy he has left, Louis turns his head to look at her. “What made you think it was?”

Lottie’s expression is one of consideration, a crease in her brows as she mulls over the memory in her head. “I really thought it was him, because you said that he did yoga,” she says, shaking her head slightly. “And he was there, in my yoga class, with his shirt off. And he had a butterfly tattoo. Wait,” she says, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She looks at Louis cautiously. “I know it’s creepy. But, I took a photo from afar.”

“Lottie,” Louis begins, uncertain, because he doesn’t know if he’s even fucking ready to see a picture, but before he knows it, Lottie is shoving her phone in front of him anxiously. There’s something so familiar about the grainy picture that makes Louis stop breathing.

Then everything clicks. 

He squints at the screen. Then looks up at Lottie. 

“Are you sure this is him?” Louis says. He can hear the shakiness in his own voice. 

Lottie nods firmly. “Yes,” she says.

“Fuck,” Louis whispers. He stares at the screen for a second, heart pounding. It’s another second before he’s shooting up from his seat, hastily grabbing his phone, and, leaving a confused Lottie behind, Louis runs out the door without another word. 

———————

Harry’s not answering the door. Of course he’s not. Louis supposes Niall isn’t home to answer it either. Which leaves only one solution.

Louis’ not surprised to find that Harry is the kind of person to hang his clothing on a laundry line. It may not be Louis’ preference, personally, because of bird poop, and all. But he could be persuaded to change his opinion. Especially now, when he sees the purple floral shirt hanging on the line outside one of the windows, indirectly revealing which apartment unit belongs to Harry. Yes, the laundry line seems to be serving Louis well today.

Louis supposes that any passersby who saw him climb up the fire escape to crawl into an open window would deem him suspicious, immediately calling the cops. Thankfully, this is New York. Everyone has seen stranger things. As Louis hoists his leg over Harry’s window, he _does_ get a glance from someone living on the floor below Harry, though. Whoops. Might have to explain that to Harry’s neighbour later.

Stumbling into Harry’s apartment, Louis rises to take in the place. It seems as if Louis has landed in Harry’s living room. There’s a record player and a group of plants lining the space, along with a few art pieces. It’s very Harry. Seeing as he’s just moved in, there isn’t really anything else that indicates that Harry lives here. Niall himself doesn’t seem to be the avid decorating type; Louis is pretty sure that Niall would just be content with any roof over his head.

He wonders if Harry is still sleeping. The apartment is very still, quiet enough that he can hear the next door neighbours playing music. It’s late in the afternoon. Harry probably isn’t sleeping. 

Tentatively, Louis pokes his head into a bedroom. Harry isn’t here. This could be Niall’s bedroom. 

Moving to the other bedroom in the apartment, Louis takes a deep breath before looking in. 

No Harry. Huh.

After perusing through Harry and Niall’s apartment, Louis deduces that neither Harry nor Niall both are here. He tries Harry’s phone again, to no avail.

With a sigh, Louis sits down on their beige couch and stares at the wall, bones thrumming in anticipation. He manages to wait for a good ten minutes before he’s hit with the lack of sleep from the night before.

———————

When Louis wakes up again, it’s to the sound of keys jimmying into the front door. The setting sun notifies him that it’s probably well past nine. 

The alien surrounding reminds him where he is, and why he’s here. Louis jolts up just as the door opens. Harry. 

Sure enough, Harry materializes through the door. He looks up and freezes.

Louis takes in the disheveled hair, the shadows that circle his eyes. Harry doesn’t look like he got any sleep last night. Louis’ heart breaks, just a little bit, because Harry doesn’t deserve to be exhausted, much less because of _Louis_. Harry stands at the door, and he’s too far away, and Louis just wants to reach out to him. “Harry,” he says softly. Soft, as if Harry’s a fragile animal, and Louis is afraid of startling him.

“How did you get inside?” Harry says, voice slow. There’s nothing in his expression that reveals anything. 

Louis shrugs meekly. “I climbed in,” he admits, gesturing towards the window. Harry smiles hesitantly, before fully stepping into the apartment and taking off his shoes. 

“Of course,” Harry mumbles, looking down at his feet. Then, with a sigh, he steps forward. “I should have expected you here.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis tells him, even though he probably doesn’t sound too sorry, because all he’s thinking about is how he wants Harry to come closer, just a few more steps, _please_. 

“No,” Harry says, “Don’t be. I’m sorry for running out on you like that, I — I just didn’t expect it. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. I couldn’t take it.” He runs a hand through his hair, distressed, clearly so _tired_ , and before Louis can say anything, Harry continues.

“It’s something I guess I should have expected, right? You finding your soulmate. And I’m happy for you, Louis,” Harry babbles, a desperate edge to his voice like he’s still trying to convince himself. Louis wonders how many hours Harry has spent trying to persuade himself to be okay. To be happy for Louis and his said soulmate. 

Harry looks straight at Louis, a kind of broken sincerity in his eyes. “You deserve it, you do. You’re amazing and I just wish,” he says, faltering. “I just wish it was me, that’s all. I’m sorry to say that. I shouldn’t say that.” And he looks away, clearly trying to collect himself.

Harry looks so vulnerable after his statement. Louis can’t take it anymore. He stands up. Puts a foot forward. 

“Harry,” Louis says. At the stern tone, Harry looks up, expression perplexed. It doesn’t matter. Louis plows on. “You never told me how you met your soulmate.”

The confusion on Harry’s face grows. “Um. I met him on holiday.”

Louis steps closer to Harry. He’s close enough now that he can make out the bags under Harry’s eyes. Yet, even in his tired state, Harry has never looked so beautiful. “Where on holiday?”

“At a party for Niall’s frat,” Harry says, slowly. “At NYU.”

God, if Louis had only known this information earlier. He isn’t backing down now. “Where at the frat party.”

Something like recognition passes across Harry’s face, and maybe, finally, he’s catching on. “I met him in a bathroom.”

There’s only a few feet of distance left between them, and Louis closes it until they’re standing face to face. “Do you know what I remember about my soulmate, Harry?” he says, unable to hide the intensity in his tone, because they’re so damn close to the conclusion. They’re almost there. 

Harry’s staring at him, eyes wide, as Louis continues. “I was so fucking hammered at that party that I didn’t remember anything, except that he had a huge mess of brown hair and a butterfly tattoo. Didn’t remember anything else. But I remembered one thing.” Louis brings his hand down to squeeze at Harry’s wrist. “I remembered how he made me feel.”

A gasp escapes Harry’s mouth. “You —”

Louis delicately presses a finger against his lips, letting out a wet chuckle. “The first encounter with him, despite the fact I was so drunk, I never forgot. Never forgot how warm he made me feel, or how it felt like everything clicked when I was with him. I couldn’t. And then I met you.

“You made me feel like I was at home every single fucking time. The way you understood me without even trying. The way there could be anyone else in the room, and I would still look for you every single time. The way that we could say nothing at all and still know what the other person was thinking. It didn’t make sense. But it does. When Lottie found my soulmate, she took a picture. And she took a picture of _you_ , Harry.”

When Louis finishes, Harry’s eyes are glistening. He clutches Louis’ arm just as Louis moves his hand to grasp at Harry’s neck. They’re both crying now. 

“Louis.” Harry lets out a shaky exhale. “Please don’t be fucking with me,” he says, almost begs, but Louis has a sense that Harry’s directing it more to the universe than to him. 

Louis laughs wetly, shaking his head. “I could never, babe,” he says, anyway, tucking a curl behind Harry’s ear. “I could never.”

“Louis,” Harry chokes, voice filled with emotion. “Oh my God, Louis.”

“I’ve been looking for you all this time,” Louis chuckles, sniffling. “You were right in front of me.”

“Oh my God, I’m so fucking glad it’s you,” Harry says, smiling through his tears, happy relief evident in his tone. “I’m so in love with you.”

The words send a burst of happiness from Louis’ chest. Fireworks. If he could be Katy Perry, shooting firecrackers from her boobs, he would. 

“Harry,” Louis breathes, his heart expanding at Harry’s declaration, and Harry kisses him.

In the grand scheme of things, they really should have known. In retrospect, they really should have. But maybe it was all meant to unfold like this, Louis thinks, as Harry lifts him off the ground in the midst of happy laughter. Maybe it was supposed to be a journey where two souls meet again. Maybe they were supposed to find their way back to each other.


	7. seven

  
_the tides we’re carried in, the lengths they take us to_   
_they come around again,_   
_and bring me back to you._

lights, "same sea"

———————

This is what euphoria probably feels like, Louis thinks, as he’s walking down the sidewalk with Harry. They’re holding hands, swinging their arms back and forth like teenagers. Two grown men swinging their arms together on the street. Louis doesn’t care. Not when Harry’s peeking over at him every so often, as if he’s just trying to make sure Louis is there. Louis swears his own smile is about to break his face.

After the shenanigans that had happened, they had decided that a real, proper date needed to be back on the schedule. After having broken his heart only for it to reseal itself within the span of 24 hours, Louis had decided that it was time, once again, to take Harry out on a proper date. They run to Tesco’s to buy ingredients for the dinner that they are finally going to make _together,_ and Louis feels giddy every time he thinks about how, 24 hour ago, he was grocery shopping _alone_. Now he gets to walk hand-in-hand with his _soulmate_. Fuck, life doesn’t get better than this. Louis’ not a fan of grocery shopping, but if it means more hand-holding in public with Harry, he thinks he could probably grocery shop forever. 

Yeah, Louis doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of holding Harry’s hand. He wants to hold it for the rest of his life, feel Harry’s hand in his as they do normal, everyday life things together.

God. Louis gets to hold this hand for the rest of his life.

It feels unreal. He’s so pleased with his life right now that even when Harry almost sends them flying off the sidewalk from tripping over a rock, all he can do is regain his balance and think, _you’re my soulmate and we’re meant to be together forever._

Forever. Louis wants it all. He wants kids, wants a family. Wants to tell his grandchildren _here is the story of how I met your grandfather_ for the millionth time at family gatherings.

He wants it all with Harry.

“We’re having kids,” Louis tells him when they enter the grocery store, stepping into the fluorescent lights.

Harry’s smile is grand, as bright as the blue artificial glow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Two girls and two boys.”

“Maybe we can have two sets of twins, like your siblings,” Harry says, grabbing a basket. Louis wants to fucking marry this man right now. 

They don’t end up buying produce at all. Instead, they find themselves in the frozen food aisle, because they deserve a break from this overwhelming day. Frozen pizza it is. 

“Pepperoni is my favourite,” Louis says, because this is crucial information. “This is important for you to know, now that you’re my soulmate.” At this point, he feels like he’s just saying it just so that he can hear himself address Harry as his soulmate _._ He wants to hear it out loud, wants _everybody_ to hear him say it out loud. 

“Okay,” Harry says. “I love avocados. You have to know this too. Because you’re my soulmate.”

It seems as if Harry can’t get enough of the word, either. _Soulmate._ Louis tries to hide his smile with a grimace. “Avocados are lame.”

“You just don’t like avocados because everyone else does,” Harry points out. 

Louis doesn’t argue. Not when his soulmate knows him better than anyone else. 

They make it out of the grocery store with a box of frozen pepperoni pizza, five avocados and two bottles of champagne. “To celebrate,” Harry had exclaimed. Louis couldn’t disagree. Today would be a day of celebration.

After pizza, Harry makes guacamole while Louis eats ice cream from Harry’s freezer, because apparently Harry likes mint chocolate chip too. He also eats Harry’s guacamole while complaining about avocados the whole time. Harry’s smile doesn’t falter all night.

Time moves in laughter. Laughter because Harry’s trying to pepper his face with kisses, laughter because he’s with Harry. Laughter because now it’s 12 AM and he’s sitting across from Harry on the same couch, legs intertwined, holding up a freshly poured glass of champagne. He’s happy.

“I get to kiss you for the rest of my life,” Harry says excitedly, like it’s a secret. 

Louis rubs his foot against Harry. “That’s gross.”

With his champagne-free hand, Harry takes Louis’ foot and puts it against his face. What a brave man. “You’re gross.”

“You literally have my entire foot on your face,” Louis remarks. 

Harry clutches Louis’ foot closer, like a damn teddy bear. “I love every part of you.”

“I love you,” Louis tells him, and Harry beams. 

“That’s not weird, right?” Harry says, tucking his foot under Louis’ thigh. “That I’m in love with you? Even if it’s only been a month?” 

Louis understands his concern. Objectively speaking, falling in love in such a short period of time might be weird, even unusual. But he looks at Harry, who seems to be the only person who Louis has ever felt aligned with. Being with Harry is as if he’s orbiting around him. He feels connected. Connected, like electricity is to its source. Connected, like magnets pulling toward one another without any persuasion. There was never any forceful persuasion when it came to loving Harry. 

So if Louis has learned anything this past month, is that perhaps, unusual doesn’t mean bad. Maybe unusual just means that it’s meant to be. 

So Louis smiles, and there’s no doubt when he says, “Harry, you’re my soulmate. We’re meant to love each other forever.”

At that, Harry raises his glass triumphantly, returning Louis’ jubilant expression. “To us.”

“To us,” Louis confirms, clinking his glass with Harry’s. 

“I was thinking,” Harry says, when he’s downed his glass, “that you could maybe stay the night?” He looks a bit nervous, as if Louis would say no. As if Louis _could_ say no. 

Louis flips his imaginary long hair, imitating a coy maiden. “Am I that easy, Harold?” 

Harry tries to hide his smile and fails. “No. Sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking that you could seduce me into your bed,” Louis says, dipping his voice a little lower. “But I don’t know if you can, Styles.”

Maybe it’s a bit telling how, instead of backing down, Harry puts down his glass, a challenging glimmer in his eyes. Pushing and pulling, ready to match Louis’ slight competitiveness with his own. Like he knows exactly what Louis needs. _Because he does, doesn’t he?_

So when Harry leans forward, Louis feels his breath catch in anticipation, and suddenly, Harry seems to be so much closer than a leg’s distance away. 

Then Harry grazes Louis’ ankle from where it’s resting on his lap. Just by the slow, dangerous drag of his hand, Louis knows he’s in trouble. 

“You know,” Harry says, casual, like his intentions are purely innocent. “I didn’t forget how you came that night.”

A flirty Harry Styles is one thing. But a seductive Harry Styles is another. A seductive Harry Styles is a guarantee that there is no escape. 

As expected, Harry doesn’t break his eye contact. “Remember how I pinned you to the bed?” 

“No,” Louis lies automatically, maybe even petulantly. 

“Really?” Harry leans forward, so close, but not close enough. Teasing. “Because you came down my throat because of it. It was really hot.” He closes his hand over Louis’ ankle, and Louis almost fucking whimpers. He’s got Harry pinning his ankles down while reciting exactly how he made Louis come last time. He can’t exactly think straight. 

“You want me to do it again, baby?” Harry says, voice low and syrupy. “Want me to hold you down so you can come?”

Fuck. Louis loves this so much. He loves being cornered, loves Harry chasing him down for it, acting like the hunter when he knows Harry is as desperate as he is.

Louis tilts his head, trying to level with Harry’s stare. “If you want,” he says, looking up at him beneath his eyelashes. “I wouldn’t stop you.”

Harry breaks, swelling forward to tug on Louis’ legs. Before Louis knows it, he’s being dragged forward, right onto Harry’s lap. 

“You’re really trying to kill me here,” Harry grins, before his hands are cupping Louis’ bum. 

Louis shifts his bum around a little, feigning like he’s just trying to get comfortable. Harry groans a bit from the friction, head tilting slightly. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“I love your bum,” Harry murmurs. “I think about it all the time.”

Louis grinds down purposefully now, watching as Harry’s gaze intensifies at the touch. “All the time?” 

“All the time,” Harry says, voice turning husky. “Couldn’t stop looking at it from the first day. Think about getting my hands on it,” he says, giving it a squeeze. “Think about getting my finger inside,” he says, bringing his mouth closer to Louis’ ear, and Louis shudders. “Think about getting my tongue in you.”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut, unable to stop the visuals going through his head. He lets out a whine.

“You like that, babe,” Harry murmurs, bringing a hand to Louis’ hair and pulling gently. It’s less of a question and more of an assertive statement. 

Louis didn’t think this would be the kind of sex they’d have, all the pushing and pulling to fight over who had the upper hand. Fighting for dominance, until one of them eventually breaks. 

When Harry tilts Louis’ head, swiping a tongue along his neck, Louis breaks. He can hear the whimper crawling out of his throat, and he knows he’s fully gone. 

“You want me to take you to the bedroom, babe?” Harry coaxes, and Louis wants so much, he can’t do much but nod.

The trip to the bedroom is a staggering mess of distracted kissing. It probably takes longer than it should, but Louis can’t really complain when Harry’s got him pressed to the wall with his tongue inside his mouth. 

They teeter into the bedroom, tripping over each other’s feet in an attempt to get through the doorway. “Should we light candles,” Harry pants into Louis’ mouth as they land onto the bed.

The feeling of Harry on top of him is too much. Louis’ hips automatically arch upward, seeking out the feeling of Harry’s crotch against his. “What?”

“For romance,” Harry says, hair drooping over Louis’ face. He presses back down against Louis’ hips. 

Candles, although an extremely endearing idea, are not Louis’ priority as of this moment. “If you get off of me right now, I’m going to kick you in the balls.”

“I guess no candles, then,” Harry says, and Louis takes this opportunity to flip them both over. He pins Harry’s shoulders to the bed, watching his face change into one of open pleasure.

It’s fucking hot how expressive Harry is, always immediately reactive to any new touch, and Louis loves taking Harry aback. Harry’s eyes go wide as Louis rocks against his crotch, and Louis could watch this forever. “You like this?” Louis purrs, bumping purposefully against the bulge in Harry’s pants. He knows Harry does. 

“You look so fucking good,” Harry tells him, breathless. 

Louis knows how he looks. He knows he could sit here all day, put on a damn show and make Harry come just like this. But there’s something about him that really wants to get his mouth on Harry’s dick. It’s something he hasn’t been able to get out of his mind since seeing it at the beach house, seeing Harry’s cock spill into his own hand. 

Climbing down, Louis keeps his eyes straight at Harry as he unzips Harry’s trousers. He wants to watch the whole thing, wants to watch Harry fall apart when Louis puts his mouth on his cock. 

One of Louis’ new favourite things is how Harry’s dick springs free from his trousers, bouncing a bit from its size. Louis can’t take his eyes away at Harry’s erect cock, standing freely after straining against his boxers for so long. Harry’s gaping at him, chest heaving. 

On a regular occasion, Louis might consider teasing Harry, mouthing around his cock until Harry fell apart willingly. Not today, though. Today, he wants cock in his mouth, wants Harry to fill it until he comes. 

Harry’s cock is full, dripping a little bit. Louis can’t resist picking up the precum with his tongue, swiping at the slit to just taste. It tastes salty and rich, and Louis squeezes Harry’s cock a little, just to get a bit more. He licks the fresh precum, letting it sit on his tongue. When he looks up at Harry, Harry’s staring at him with his eyes blown. Louis takes this as a cue to encircles Harry’s cock with one hand, and gives the head a gentle suck, just to test the waters. And by test the waters, he means just to see Harry’s mouth drop open in ecstasy. 

“Oh fuck,” Harry croaks, voice shot. Louis dips his head until Harry’s dick is reaching deeper into his mouth, brushing the back of his throat before he bobs his head back up. 

Although his reactions are telling, Harry’s vocal abilities tend to remain silent while he’s receiving. There’s something about Harry’s tendency to remain silent while his pupils are blown black, that makes Louis extremely hard. 

“Babe,” Harry chokes weakly, when Louis brings a hand to his balls. “I’m going to come if you keep doing that.” 

A helpless Harry on the verge of an orgasm is Louis’ main goal. Louis starts to fondle his balls until Harry says, “I want to come inside you.” 

Fuck. As if that’s not enough encouragement for Louis. He pulls off Harry’s cock, unable to hide the plea in his voice as he says, “Fuck, please.” Overwhelmed with insatiable desire, he surges forward just as Harry moves toward him, bodies crashing as their mouths meet messily.

Harry tugs at Louis’ pants. “Get this off,” he huffs, and Louis allows Harry to pull them off his body until he’s bare, stripping off his shirt in the process. He reaches forward to take off Harry’s shirt, and as the white tee pulls over his head, Louis catches a glimpse of his stomach. 

The butterfly tattoo.

Harry watches him as he stares in wonder, eyes tracing over the inked marks on his torso. The thing that brought them together. Fuck. After all these years.

Louis brings a kiss to the tattoo. “Bless this butterfly,” he whispers. 

“This is cute and all,” Harry says, “but my dick is really distracted.” Just then, Louis feels a twitch against his bare ass, and feels fresh blood rushing to his dick. 

“Shit,” Louis mumbles, instinctively pushing back against Harry’s cock poking at his bum. “Could ride you right here, right now.”

“Wanna get my fingers all up in you first, babe,” Harry says, throwing Louis a sly wink before reaching for something to his right. He comes back with a bottle of lube, slicking his fingers up before Louis feels a touch at his hole. 

Letting out a shaky exhale, Louis feels the first finger enter. Harry’s fingers are just as good as he had remembered. After a minute of gentle moving back and forth, Harry joins in another finger. Harry’s fucking his fingers up into Louis relentlessly, crooking them just _so,_ hitting a spot that makes Louis’ knees go weak. Eyes falling shut, it’s not long before Louis’ riding Harry’s fingers, seeking out more stimulation on his prostate. 

Suddenly, Harry’s fingers are gone. Louis’ eyes fly open to see Harry’s eyes burning, a thirst in his expression. “Do you have any idea what you look like,” he murmurs. Louis’ dick twitches in response. Harry looks calmly feral, like he’s ready to pounce on Louis with swift composure. Louis wants him to. 

All of his inhibitions fly out the window. “Please fuck me,” Louis breathes. He feels empty, so much emptier than he was a moment ago. He needs to be filled. 

A low noise comes out of Harry, and he slaps his cock against Louis’ hole, catching his rim with the tip. “Yeah, babe?” he says, his voice dipping into a growl. “Want that?”

Biting down on his lip, Louis manages a jerky nod. “So much.”

Hesitation passes over Harry’s face, before he’s saying, “I’m clean. You know. If you want.”

Harry’s clean, and he’s asking Louis if he would mind dragging it raw inside him, filling him up with his cum. If he would fucking mind. Louis almost combusts right there. 

“You’re my soulmate,” Louis tells him as he takes ahold of Harry’s cock, lubing it up quickly. He fits it in between his cheeks. “You’re the only one I’m going to let come in me from now on.”

“Fuck,” Harry wheezes, sweat gleaming on his forehead. “You can’t just say things like that.”

Straightening up so he’s positioned directly above Harry’s dick, Louis tilts his head at Harry. “Like what?” he says, and just as Harry opens his mouth, Louis sinks down. 

Harry is big. Louis knew that just by looking at it, but fuck. He’s stretching Louis from the inside, pushing in deeper as Louis brings himself further down. He can’t stop himself from clenching, hole spasming around Harry’s cock. By how Harry’s eyes are falling shut, mouth open into an _o,_ it doesn’t seem as if he minds much. 

“God,” Harry groans. “Louis, you’re so tight.”

This sends flutters to Louis’ chest, and he begins to gyrate slowly, feeling the way Harry’s dick moves inside him. “All for you,” he tells Harry. 

Harry’s nostrils flare in arousal. “Better be,” he says, placing his hands on Louis’ waist. Louis allows Harry to direct the way he moves on his cock, guiding his hips up and down. He pulls all the way up, hole clutching at the top — before coming all the way back down, ass settling on Harry’s hips. 

“You do that so well,” Harry tells him, staring at Louis like he’s some priceless treasure. He grabs Louis’ ass for emphasis. 

It’s enough for Louis to pull off his dick and swing his legs around so that Harry gets a good view of his ass. He makes sure to angle his face toward Harry when he sits back down on Harry’s cock, so that Harry can get an eyeful of Louis’ moaning as he sits back on his dick, ass in full display. Immediately, Harry’s hands fly to Louis’ bum, eager. 

Cursing under his breath, Harry squeezes, watching Louis’ ass jiggle on his dick. “So fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, as if he’s mesmerized. “Want you to come on my cock, baby.”

The words open a floodgate in Louis. He leans forward as he fucks back onto Harry’s dick, keeping himself upright with his arms. It gives Harry a better angle to thrust up, and Louis cries out when he feels Harry hit his prostate, slumping forward. 

“Fuck,” Harry says, watching Louis’ figure bend forward. ‘Wanna fuck you.” Louis feels Harry prying him off his dick, moving to the end of the bed to face Louis. Immediately, he captures Louis’ mouth with his own. “You have no idea how good you look.” He bites down on Louis’ bottom lip. 

“I have an idea,” Louis mumbles dazedly, glancing up at Harry. The close proximity gives Louis a good look at Harry up close, in a state of sexed dishevelment. 

Harry’s response is a hand on Louis’ chest, bringing Louis to drop back against the bed. Wordlessly, eyes locked with Louis, he begins to line his cock up, nudging it against Louis’ hole. Breath caught in his throat, Louis waits for the bump of Harry’s head. When it comes, he shuts his eyes, head falling back as Harry pushes himself in slowly.

Reverse cowgirl is a good position, but it might not be able to compare to this. He’s vulnerable like this, Harry’s eyes locked on him as he fucks him gently. Louis can’t help but open his legs a little wider. 

Harry fucks like he speaks, slow and steady, like he’s taking his time. Like he’s considering every movement that matters. He’s staring at Louis the same way too, like Louis is the only thing presents. It’s fucking hot. 

Louis wants to make Harry lose control.

“Is this all you got, Styles?” Louis grits out, making Harry’s eyebrow twitch. The corner of his mouth pulls up. 

“You want me to fuck you harder, baby, don’t you,” Harry draws out. Louis isn’t willing to lose this one. 

Louis tilts his head a little farther back, angling his face purposefully so that he looks a little bit breathy, a little like he’s losing control. “I think you want to fuck me harder,” he says, pitching his hips higher as Harry sends his next thrust, driving it in _deep_. “I think you want to fuck me until I’m babbling, whining, making those sounds of yours like that you like so much.”

It’s a dirty game, but effective. Harry’s eyes grow darker as Louis continues to speak, clenching around Harry a little tighter with every thrust. “Think you want to fuck me so that I’m a mess, clutching at these sheets so I’m coming over my belly, Harry, don’t you want that? Don’t you want to see that?”

Harry snaps, lunging his body forward to box Louis in. Hair dropping over Louis’ face, his voice comes out in a deep rumble. “You’re playing filthy.”

Louis’ response is to lick a glint of sweat from his chest, tongue dragging along wet skin. When he brings his head back up, Harry’s eyes are almost black. “Thought you liked filthy.”

He feels Harry’s thrusts getting snappier now, stare driving into Louis. “I’m gonna fuck you, baby,” Harry whispers, “because that’s what you want. Gonna come for me, aren’t you.”

At Harry’s low, syrupy tone, Louis realizes that he doesn’t know if he’s the one winning or losing. Then, in one quick motion, Harry pin Louis’ wrists with one hand and starts fucking into him earnestly, striking deep. All of Louis’ cares fly out the window. The drag of Harry’s cock is good, heavy, and Louis begins to whimper.

“Good,” Harry whispers, circling his free hand around Louis’ cock. There’s too much stimulation. Harry starts to stroke, gripping at the head. “So good, Louis.”

The hand withdraws, and just when he’s about to cry out in frustration, he feels a finger brush at his rim. Right where Harry’s dick is ramming into his hole. The finger puts pressure, rubbing gently. Louis gulps, clenches hard and comes. 

“Fuck, I love you,” he hears. “Babe, you’re so hot, you’re so —” Harry cuts himself off, opting to drive his hips faster into Louis instead. A few more thrusts, and he hears Harry let out a warning before he’s spilling inside Louis, warm and plentiful. 

They collapse on top of each other, a heap of spent limbs. Harry nuzzles at Louis’ hair absently, dropping a kiss to his forehead.

“We should probably get cleaned up,” Louis says after a while. “Also, your dick is still in my ass.”

“Good shit,” Harry says. “I might keep it in there for a while.”

“Um. Not unless you want me to walk tomorrow.”

“I don’t,” Harry says, but pulls out anyway. Getting up from the bed, he comes back with a towel and starts to wipe at Louis’ stomach. There’s something considerate and caring about it. Louis can only smile fondly as Harry dabs gently to soak up the excess. 

Then Harry smiles softly at Louis, putting the towel aside before he lies down next to him. It’s some sort of instinct, when Louis tugs Harry closer and Harry responds by wrapping his legs around him. Feels like their bodies click, like puzzle pieces finding their way to each other. 

They settle into each other, breathing in tandem. It’s funny, because this is what Louis had hoped how their first date on Friday would end. Even though the date technically never happened, this is close enough. Maybe even better. Probably better. 

Having Harry here in his arms has never felt better, to know that he’s with someone who he’s meant to be with. It’s one thing to feel like you’re meant to be with someone; it’s another thing to know you _are meant to be._ Everything feels complete, like things were a bit disjointed and messy before, but now everything’s finally in place. He hadn’t noticed the void until now. Now, when Harry’s curled up beside him, tracing a shape on his arm, and he feels full and warm and happy. It feels right.

It feels like coming home. 

When Louis was twelve, he learned about atoms and shit in science class. Science class was always a bit shit, especially because Louis didn’t really understand what was going on — anything that wasn’t art-related always went a bit over his head. But Louis remembers being bewildered at how everything and everyone was comprised of atoms, comprised of a billion tiny things that fit together to make one big thing. That, Louis definitely couldn’t wrap his head around — how his body, his brain, was a large collection of molecules. How everyone he knew was just a bunch of atoms. 

Somehow, in this world, in this life, his collection of atoms miraculously joined together. And somehow, even more miraculously, they were destined to find Harry’s. _Destined._ At the thought, Louis can’t help but smile into Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry must have felt it, because he blinks up at Louis. “What are you smiling about?” he says, dragging his finger along Louis’ skin.

“How the universe put us together,” Louis answers. He cards his fingers through Harry’s hair, liking the way the curls brush gently against his skin. 

“That’s a good thing to smile about,” Harry says, lips curling up gently. 

“It is,” Louis agrees. “You know, we probably should’ve known.” 

“Hm?” Harry’s touch curves into a spiral near his elbow. 

“We really shouldn’t have been surprised,” Louis tells him. “Right?” 

“I didn’t even think about the fact that we could have been soulmates, honestly,” Harry admits, withdrawing his finger. “I was just so excited to be with you.”

Louis isn’t able to hide his grin. In every circumstance, he just wanted Harry. And he got more than what he wished for, didn’t he? “Me too,” Louis says, voice soft. 

The next few minutes are spent in pleasant silence, a mutual contentment followed from their declarations. They’re just enjoying each other’s presence, enjoying how everything turned out to be. Then, Louis asks, “Did you ever give up on finding me?”

As he muses upon the thought, Harry has a mindful look on his face. “A little bit, yeah,” he says. “I was quite buzzed as well, that night when I met you. I didn’t see my eyes until I had gotten to the airport, but I had met so many new people by then that I wasn’t even sure who it was.” 

To hear his soulmate’s side of the story — _Harry’s_ side of the story — is a little unreal. Louis didn’t ever think he’d get here, much less even _reunite_ with his soulmate. And Harry continues, “I mean, I had hoped to find you? But I didn’t even remember enough. I didn’t know how I would ever find you.”

Louis nods. He tangles his fingers with Harry, just to remind himself that _this is real, we’re here, and it’s better than I could have ever imagined._ “We’re lucky then, aren’t we.” The moment Louis says it, he knows that’s it’s true. 

Harry places a kiss to his head. Even though it’s the first time, the way Harry brushes his lips against Louis’ head feels familiar, recognizable. “I’d like to think we would have always found our way back to each other.”

Always found a way back to each other. Louis likes that thought too. 

“Back when I didn’t know whether you were with your soulmate or not, there was a part of me that had hoped you weren’t with them. Even though they’re your soulmate and obviously perfect for you,” Harry admits, “but I couldn’t help but selfishly think that we’d be so good together.”

“Well, we are, babe,” Louis says, looking up to see Harry smile down at him, simple joy present on his face. “We are.”

———————

Zayn @ boys in da pub!!!  
[10:50 PM] _so did u find out where harry was_

Louis @ boys in da pub!!!  
[10:51 PM] _Harry ?_ _Do you mean my soulmate_

Zayn @ boys in da pub!!!  
[10:51 PM] _wait_

Zayn @ boys in da pub!!!  
[10:51 PM] _whaaaaat?????_

Zayn @ boys in da pub!!!  
[10:51 PM] _is harry your soulmate?????_

Zayn @ boys in da pub!!!  
[10:53 PM] _louis???????_

Zayn @ boys in da pub!!!  
[10:58 PM] _LOUIS WHAT THE FUCK LOUIS TELL ME NOW MOTHERFUCKER!!!_

Liam @ boys in da pub!!!  
[10:58 PM] _Can one of you please tell us????? Zayn is screaming so loud I’m scared the neighbours will yell at us_

Niall @ boys in da pub!!!  
[10:59 PM] _I knew it hahahaha you fuckers !!!!! I told you so_

Harry @ boys in da pub!!!  
[11:02 PM] _Niall... You never said anything._

Zayn @ boys in da pub!!!  
[11:02 PM] _I’M COMING OVER RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!_


	8. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter!!!!! we made it!!!! 
> 
> enjoy, my sweet friends :-)

_somehow, it feels like nothing has changed_  
 _right now, my heart is beating the same_  
 _out loud, someone's calling my name,_  
 _it sounds like you._  


one direction, "once in a lifetime"

———————

“Honey, I’m home,” Louis crows. 

A clang echoes from the kitchen, followed by a string of curses. “Hi,” Harry calls out, poking his head out. A red stain, presumably tomato, decorates the front of a boob apron that Louis had gotten for him last week. Even though the apron was meant to be a joke, Harry has been wearing it with delight every day. 

It’s been three months since the campaign ended. Three months since an outburst of articles — including one from Vanity Fair: _H &M’s New Inclusive Lingerie Campaign Is One of Dreamy Wonder _resulted in an influx of clients for their company, and has given Harry more exposure than expected. The exposure had been good for him, giving him a series of jobs after the campaign had ended. If New York hadn’t known about Harry Styles, London photographer, before, they certainly did now. 

It’s all great stuff. But despite it all, Louis _does_ miss having someone at lunch every day. After Harry had left the office, it was a little unsettling to start spending lunches alone. But it’s okay, because Harry makes up for it most evenings, when Louis comes home to a smiley Harry with dinner cooking in the kitchen. 

Like tonight, for example. Except there isn’t usually a puddle of tomato sauce on the floor. 

“Lucy knocked it over with her tail,” Harry sighs, and Lucy actually looks guilty. Probably because she _likes_ Harry, that furry fucker. She had immediately taken a liking to him, opting to sit with him whenever he had stopped by Louis’ apartment. 

Louis stoops over to clean the mess with paper towels. “What time are the boys coming?” 

“In an hour,” Harry confirms, turning back to the series of pots and pans on the stove. The strong aroma suggests a sort of herby, saucy concoction.

Louis straightens up, throwing the soupy paper towels into the trash. “Are you making pasta?” 

“Lasagna,” Harry tells him, with a knowing smile.

Coming up behind Harry, Louis presses a kiss to his cheek. He feels Harry’s smile come through as Harry continues to stir something into a pot. “I love lasagna.”

“I know you do, babe,” Harry says, twisting his head to kiss Louis’ lips. It’s short but sweet, and Louis has missed Harry’s touch all day. He’s happy he’s coming home to it now. 

Sure enough, Niall arrives an hour later, prompt. Louis is greeted with a casserole dish thrust in his face, and Louis didn’t even know that Niall knew how to make a casserole.

“I make casseroles for every family Thanksgiving,” Niall declares. Of course he does.

Liam and Zayn come through the door fifteen minutes later, fashionably late as always. They greet Louis with a hug, and hand him an apple pie. An apple pie that looks store-bought, because neither Liam nor Zayn can cook.

Dinner passes by in a whirlwind of wine and hooting laughter, settled comfortably around Louis’ dining table. Harry’s lasagna is a hit, and Louis ends up eating a good third of it. Niall’s chicken casserole dish isn’t bad either. Once the last spoonful of casserole is hauled onto Harry’s plate, they all can’t help but agree. 

“You should cook more for us, Niall,” Liam suggests, spooning a glob of cheesy chicken into his mouth. Zayn nods in agreement, even though his plate has been already cleared long ago. Compared to Liam, Zayn’s a light eater. 

Niall grins, lifting his mug of beer toward his mouth. Beer for Niall, wine for the rest of them — that’s how it always is. Louis makes sure to keep a case in his fridge for these occasions. 

“I probably will,” he says. “I’ve got to, with Harry not being around to cook for me anymore. He’s here cooking for Louis, instead.”

“Hey,” Harry says, flashing Niall a quick look before returning to his lasagna. There’s something about Niall’s comment that makes Louis think, _has Harry been even spending time at home at all?_ Before he can dwell on it too much, he’s rudely interrupted. 

“Can you make us pizza next week?” Zayn asks, letting out a large burp. It wafts toward Louis’ face. 

Someone needs to teach Zayn proper table manners. Louis fans Zayn’s tomato-scented burp away. “That was disgusting,” he says, grimacing at Zayn, who only shrugs. “Also, Harry and I aren’t going to be here next week, so please save the pizza, Niall.”

“Where are you going?” Liam asks. Liam, for one, is not disturbed by Zayn’s bodily gases. Probably because he’s immune by now.

“We’re visiting family back home,” Louis says. They’ve got their tickets booked for London next week. Louis may or may not be counting down the days he sees his siblings again.

“Is Gemma gonna whoop your ass in poker again?” Niall says, laughing.

Louis points his fork at him. “Not this time. I’m not gonna let her.” 

That had been a sad defeat, albeit hilarious, when Louis had lost to Harry’s sister. It had been a close game, but Louis figures that it was best that he had lost to his soulmate’s sister. Beating her at poker right after meeting her probably wouldn’t have the best impression. But he had gotten along quite well with Gemma, who was basically just an older version of Harry, although probably less weird. Or maybe equally weird. Just less openly weird. She doesn’t talk to the pigeons in public like Harry does.

Meeting Harry’s mum had been all sorts of wonderful. Anne had welcomed him with open arms, and Louis couldn’t help but have tears in his eyes. This was Harry’s family. His soulmate’s family, who was meant to be his family too.

In turn, Louis’ siblings had all loved Harry. Lottie, especially, who had screamed upon meeting Harry — _I did this, I brought you together —_ and continued to take all the credit. Despite the fact that they had known each other for a month already. 

So, this next visit is going to be fun. Another chance for Louis to be further familiarized with the family, and vice versa. 

They wrap up dinner an hour later, with Niall claiming that he has to get up early in the morning to go golfing. Zayn and Liam leave soon after, promising to see them when they get back from London. Louis gives them each a big hug before they head out the door. He loves his boys, he does.

After they wash the dishes, Louis brings two glasses of wine to the coffee table and waits for Harry. 

“Wait,” Harry says, voice echoing from the other room. “I forgot to tell you.” He comes out to the living room, brandishing a manila envelope. “This got developed today.” He hands it to Louis. 

He expects the envelope to contain just another one of Harry’s prints. But then he opens it up and takes the first print out, and. Oh. 

Louis isn’t wrong. It is one of Harry’s prints. But it’s of Louis. 

He almost doesn’t recognize himself, if only because the person he knows doesn’t look like _that._ The subject in the photo has his eyes closed, face lifted towards the clouds like he’s listening to the sky. The sun is hitting him from behind, highlighting every wisp of his hair, casting his body into a golden glow. Louis had forgotten how good Harry is at making his subjects look illuminated, ethereal. 

When he looks up at Harry, he’s looking at Louis with a kind of blushing admiration. “It’s you,” Harry says, as if it wasn’t obvious by now. 

Still speechless, Louis brings his gaze back down to the print. “Wow.” 

Taking a seat besides Louis, Harry hooks his chin over his shoulder. “I really like this one,” he murmurs, taking the picture gingerly between his fingers. “Out of every picture I shot that weekend, this was my favourite one.” 

It’s the cheesiest thing to say, but Louis knows Harry well enough to know that he’s probably telling the truth. “I don’t know how I could compare to underwear models, Harry,” he says, blushing despite. “But thanks. You really do know how to flatter a man.”

At that statement, Harry suddenly stands up, looking antsy, and makes his way to the storage closet. “I found something in here the other day, when I was looking for the vacuum cleaner.” As he pokes inside the closet, Louis’ mind quickly wonders if Harry found his old baby photos, before Harry pulls out a pair of underwear. 

Louis blinks in shock. “Oh,” he says, and for some reason, he can’t stop the blush creeping up to his face, because the lacy number is _green._ He’s had enough exposure to lingerie to know that it’s called a Brazilian panty. It certainly leaves nothing to the imagination. 

“I, um. That was from the North Carolina shoot.” And he’s not _lying,_ because it was from the shoot, after he had hauled a bunch of stuff from the car and had just forgotten to return it to his office. But from the way it comes out of his mouth, it sounds like an excuse.

But it doesn’t seem as if whatever he says matters, because now Harry’s looking a little red, standing warily. “I was thinking,” he says, slowly, “that I could shoot you in this?” 

Based on the fact that Harry hasn’t even shot Louis since their road trip, it’s quite a request. And from the way Harry’s blushing, looking at Louis with wide eyes, he can tell that Harry’s been thinking about it for a while.

Louis had never worn lace underwear. He’s never needed to, because it’s for _women,_ and then there’s a voice nagging at him that says, _but isn’t the purpose of your whole campaign to break down those stereotypes?_ And, that, he can’t argue with. Needless to say, he doesn’t know why he can’t take his eyes away from the lace, clutched in Harry’s hands. Nevertheless, he finds himself saying, “Okay,” and goes into the bathroom to change. 

He doesn’t glance at the mirror, not when he’s stripping off his shirt and his trousers, not when he’s pulling the delicate green fabric over his legs. When he lets go, the underwear sitting right at his hips, that’s when he allows himself to look up. 

Over the past few months, shooting this campaign, Louis has seen multiple men wear lingerie. He’s even gotten quite accustomed to it, so he _thought_ he knew what to expect. But it’s a whole different thing when he’s met with the sight of himself in the mirror, looking a little bewildered, wearing nothing but skimpy lace. 

Tentatively, heart thudding in his chest, he allows himself to spin around. As he’s doing so, the lace clings to his body, hugging every side. Even his bum. His breath catches in his throat. _Especially_ his bum. 

But it looks good. As unfamiliar as it is, Louis can’t deny that it looks _good,_ the way the delicate fabric cuts from the top of his hip, plunging straight to his crotch. He’s aware of how little space there is for his dick, the lace covering it just so, barely leaving enough fabric. There’s a reason why they had only given the models the lacy boy shorts. 

Fuck. He doesn’t know why he’s allowed himself to do this. 

But he steps out of the bathroom, anyway, into his own room. At the sound of Louis walking in, Harry looks up from his camera. 

He blinks once, twice. For the most part, Harry’s facial expression is unreadable, except for the fact that his is a little bit open, chest heaving slightly. Then he says, “Um,” and his voice sounds a little hoarse. 

Louis lets a little chuckle escape, for the sake of alleviating the awkwardness he feels. “Cat got your tongue?”

Harry fish mouths in response, before saying, “Can you get on the bed.” 

It’s not exactly an answer to his question, but Harry seems too dumbstruck for Louis to expect a proper reply. Silently, Louis makes his way over to his bed, feeling kind of vulnerable. The only thing he’s wearing is a pair of lace underwear. There’s no way a man doesn’t feel vulnerable in this. 

His bed isn’t made, because it never is. Louis sits down gingerly on the messy covers, feeling a little heated under Harry’s gaze. Harry’s gaze, which hasn’t left him since he’s stepped out the door. He feels like a delicate doll, hands placed uncertainly on his lap as he waits for further instructions. 

“Right,” Harry says, finally moving for the first time since Louis’ walked in. Positioning himself in front of Louis, he adjusts a few things on his camera. “Just, stay there.”

“I’m not moving, Harry,” Louis says, chuckling weakly. “Just sitting right here.” 

“Okay,” Harry says, breath raspy. “Okay.” Bringing the camera up to his face, Harry starts to snap away. A few pictures later, Harry gestures at the bed. “Can you maybe lean back a bit, on the bed.”

At Harry’s suggestion, Louis places his arms behind him, leaning against them for support. It’s slightly more posey, exposing his bare chest a little bit more. Maybe it’s because it’s a lingerie shoot, perhaps even a boudoir shoot if they’re being technical, which — _oh wow Louis has found himself in a boudoir shoot —_ but the art director in Louis prompts him to close his eyes as he poses. Such a shoot requires intimacy, after all.

“Perfect,” he hears Harry whisper, followed by a succession of shutter sounds. He’s aware of Harry shuffling around him to capture different angles, one to his left, one up close. Louis opens his eyes again, after a while, and watches Harry. 

Harry takes pictures like he’s creating a new world. There’s something about Harry’s body language when he shoots — the concentration in his movement when he crouches to get a specific angle, the stillness in his body as he seeks to capture an accurate representation of his universe. It’s something Louis loves to see. 

After a moment, Harry pulls the camera away from his face. “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles, holding out the camera for Louis to see. “Look.” 

“How do you know that the pictures are beautiful, if you’re not even looking at them, Harold,” Louis says, but he takes the camera anyway.

Seeing himself in lingerie, through Harry’s eyes, is a fucking trip. He doesn’t remember doing much, but even with his eyes closed, he looks peacefully sultry. If that is even a thing. He hopes no one ever gets ahold of these pictures. 

“Fuck,” Louis breathes, handing the camera back to Harry. Harry’s still looking at him a little bit incredulously, so Louis says teasingly, “Have you never seen a man in underwear before?” 

Harry shakes his head dumbly. “No, I haven’t,” he says, and he sounds so struck that Louis isn’t really able to piss on him for this one. All Louis can do in response is blush a little bit, returning to his place on the bed. 

“I want you on your front,” Harry blurts, just as Louis’ bum hits the sheets. “If that’s okay. Please.” 

“You sound like a blushing virgin,” Louis tells him as he flops onto his tummy. It seems as if Harry’s motor skills are better than his verbal ones, because Harry flips him off before he crouches down, his head level with Louis’ feet.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful your ass is,” Harry murmurs, voice coming from below.

“Once or twice,” Louis says, just as the camera shutter goes off. As Harry snaps away, it comes apparent to Louis that he should probably be self-conscious of how he’s getting pictures taken of his lace-covered butt. But surprisingly, he doesn’t feel like that at all. Instead, he feels good. Powerful, even, because he’s got Harry dumbstruck from how he looks. It makes him arch his back up a little, and behind him, he hears Harry swear. 

“Shit, Lou,” Harry says, delivering more shutter sounds. “Get onto your hands and knees for me, babe. You look fucking amazing.” 

Giving reassurance is something that all photographers do for their models as they shoot — _looking good! beautiful! nice! —_ but Louis knows that Harry’s comments are more genuine than anything. It’s enough for Louis to feel a bit more confident, and he shakes his butt a little bit as he transitions onto his hands and knees. He hears Harry’s breath catch, and he can’t help but smirk a little bit. 

That is, until he hears the camera hit the carpet with a soft thud. Before Louis has a chance to voice his concern, Harry’s hands are on his ass. 

“What,” Louis gasps, swivelling his head to see Harry kneading each cheek with his hands. There’s a hungry look in his eyes, gaze focused on Louis’ bum. It sends a spike of arousal along Louis’ body, seeing Harry so focused and concentrated on nothing else. 

“Sorry,” Harry murmurs, eager hands massaging Louis’ skin. “Couldn’t help myself. You have no idea how you look.”

Before Louis can conjure a reply, Harry’s pressing a kiss to the lace. “You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Wasn’t lying when I said you’d look good in lingerie, you know. Thought about it so much during that shoot. God.”

Harry’s words make Louis swallow, full of arousal. There’s not much else Louis is capable of doing when Harry’s here, saying things like _you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen_ while mouthing at his lace panties. Then Harry’s drawing aside the bridge of the underwear with his finger, cool air hitting Louis’ hole. He feels so exposed.

“Fuck.” Harry’s fingers push gently on Louis’ bum, spreading him further apart. “Just wanna get a good look here. So pretty, baby.”

At Harry’s appreciative tone, Louis feels weak. He can’t help but let out a whine, allowing his arms to break from the weight of holding himself up, and slumps down on the bed. He’s maybe more than a little bit desperate by how he presses his ass further into Harry’s hands, but fuck it. 

“That’s it, babe,” Harry says, voice low. “Giving me a really good view here.” Harry tightens his grip a little, brushing a finger along the rim of Louis’ hole, just teasing. It’s too little and too much all at once, and it’s so overwhelming that Louis is powerless to even vocalize his want. 

Then Harry brings his tongue to Louis’ hole, and Louis loses it. 

Everything becomes a little hazy, with how gingerly Harry tongues at Louis’ rim. His touch is so gentle, so careful, as if he’s here just to taste. Then he licks a long stripe along the entirety of Louis’ hole, evoking a shudder throughout Louis’ entire body. Harry’s tongue might actually kill him, Louis thinks, just as Harry goes all in and starts eating him out in earnest. 

It’s possible that rimming could be Louis’ favourite thing. It’s probably Harry’s too, based on how he keeps eating Louis out like he’s savoring the taste. Louis can’t stop the string of moans escaping from his throat, and Harry’s hands response by gripping him harder. If Louis had known that wearing lace underwear would induce this kind of reaction, he probably would have done it a lot sooner. 

But they’re here now, and Louis feels his cock straining against his panties, constrained by the tight lace. He’s desperate for any kind of release. He tries to bring a hand up to offer relief only to have Harry bat it away. Louis is about to cry out in frustration when Harry replaces Louis’ hand with his own, and _fuck_. That’s even better.

A quick glance down gives Louis the view of Harry’s hand rubbing against green lace, dragging the thin fabric against Louis’ dick. It might just be the hottest thing that Louis has ever witnessed. Then Harry pulls the edge of the panties a little bit, just barely enough for the head to pop out, and just enough for Harry to wrap his hand around the top of Louis’ dick. When Louis tries to buck up his hips a little further to get more coverage, Harry's hands squeezes his ass. The sudden pressure that keeps his hips stable is intentional enough for Louis to know that he’s not supposed to move. 

Then suddenly Harry’s dipping his tongue in more deeply, breaching the rim. Harry’s tongue wiggles inside, trying to find its way around Louis’ clenching hole, and Louis only sees stars. 

“Harry,” he gasps, and Harry takes it as a cue to shove Louis’ panties down, past his knees. Just as quick, Harry presses his tongue against Louis’ rim, soft pressure meeting skin. He envelops his hand around Louis’ cock, stroking earnestly. Harry’s really going for it, eating Louis out greedily, tongue and lips all over Louis’ hole. When Harry swirls his tongue all around his entrance, Louis feels it, feels the pressure building up. With a gasp, he spills into Harry’s hand, clenching around nothing but wet tongue.

When he comes to, Harry is kissing his cheek gently, peppering kisses all over his face. 

“Did you only want me to wear lace so you could eat me out?” Louis mumbles, tilting his face up to kiss Harry. 

“No,” Harry says, lips smiling against Louis’. “You genuinely do look really good in it.”

One look at Harry, and Louis can tell he’s suffering slightly, bulge pressing against his jeans. And that’s all it takes for Louis to shimmy down to unzip his pants and take Harry’s cock in his mouth. He doesn’t let go until Harry comes with a shout, five minutes later, fingers intertwined in Louis’ hair. 

Coming down after sex is a part that Louis always appreciates. He loves the sex, loves losing himself and seeing how wrecked Harry can become — but he's come to find that he also likes returning to reality with Harry, too. Likes how intimate it feels, likes how it fills him with a warmth he hadn't known before he had met his soulmate. 

After cleaning up, they crash into bed together, limbs intertwined. The lace underwear is left on the floor. It’s a conclusion of sorts. 

It’s a little while later when Louis remembers. “You know,” he says, “I don’t mean to be taking you away from Niall.” And he feels a little bad when he says it, because even though Harry’s his soulmate, Harry’s still got a _life_ to live. A life with his friends, his hobbies, stuff like that. 

But Harry turns to him, confusion written on his face. “You’re not,” he says, surprised. “I see Niall like, all the time.” 

“But, like, Niall was saying…” Louis trails off.

Harry lets out a small chuckle. “Niall’s not even home half the time. He’s just saying that. Plus, I like cooking for you, yeah?” He brings his hand up, smoothing the worried crease in Louis’ forehead. “You wouldn’t be able to cook for yourself if your life depended on it.”

“I’m insulted,” Louis tells him, but inside, all he feels is relief. Harry’s independence is important to him, just as much as his own independence. There’s no way Louis would ever want Harry’s friends to feel like he were neglecting them. 

But Louis thinks that their relationship has been healthy, even great, so far. Harry does his own things, Louis does his own things, and at the end of the day, they recount their stories to one another over the phone, if not at Louis’ house. Louis finds himself looking forward to telling Harry about the day, saving up anecdotes that he knows Harry will appreciate. 

It’s the best relationship he’s been in. Whenever Harry tells him about the photoshoot he’s done that day, or a stranger he met on the train, Louis can’t help but think, _I can’t wait to grow old with you. I can’t wait to have kids with you. I can’t wait to have forever with you._ And these thoughts stay with him all the time, like the soundtrack to his life, to _their_ lives, and it’s probably because having Harry in his arms always makes him more than a little sappy.

Louis notices that Harry has gone quiet, hinting that Harry’s probably deep in thought. Just as he’s about to comment on it, Harry says, “Our lease is up soon. Mine and Niall’s.” 

Oh. That is true. Louis vaguely remembers that Harry had mentioned it to him recently, about how him and Niall had only signed a contract until the end of the year. 

“We’ve been looking for some places,” Harry continues, and even though his voice is even, Louis senses the tinge of doubt in his voice. Now that he knows they’re soulmates, Louis is increasingly aware of how attuned he is to Harry’s emotions, something that he had always dismissed earlier. “But I was hoping I could move in with you.”

“Harry.” Louis turns to Harry so that they’re face to face. “It already feels like we’re living together, right?”

Slowly, the tension on Harry’s face starts to fade, replaced by a smile. “Yeah,” he says. “It does.”

“Move in with me,” Louis declares, pulling Harry to his chest. “We’re gonna be stuck with each other for the rest of our lives anyway.” 

The smile on Harry’s face grows, until he can see both dimples, and God, what did Louis do to deserve such an incredible person? 

“And what a way to live,” Harry says, relieved, snuggling into Louis happily. Louis doesn’t think he can ever get tired of this, of having Harry as his soulmate. What a way to live, indeed. 

“Do you think we’re gonna raise our kids here?” Harry asks, voice slightly muffled by Louis’ arm. At the thought, a pang of joy rises in Louis’ chest, because this is the start, isn’t it? The start of their home together, the start of destiny manifesting and continuing to fall into place. 

Louis thinks about it. “Maybe not this flat,” he says, even though he’s so excited that he wouldn’t even object if Harry insisted. “I want an actual house.”

“A big house,” Harry confirms happily. “With a yard. For our two sets of twins.”

It turns out that Harry had been serious about the twins, and Louis does not disagree at all. “A dog, too,” Louis says, and it seems as if they’re planning out all the future residents of their house now. And the thing is, Louis knows that they're maybe jumping too far ahead, they only _just_ moved in together, for God's sake. But. Louis is struck once again by how _easy_ all of this is, by how there’s no trace of doubt in either of their voices. This is what they both want. They’re soulmates, and Louis knows it, can _feel_ it, but it has never seemed more true than at this moment. _And this is only the beginning of more moments to come,_ comes a giddy thought.

“What about Lucy?” Harry says. As if on cue, Lucy jumps onto the bed to curl on Harry’s lap.

“Lucy can get used to a dog. Right, Luce?” Louis replies, reaching over to scratch her ears. Lucy stares back passively, unimpressed. 

“Whatever,” Louis says, miffed, and promptly stops petting her. Beside him, he can hear Harry stifle a laugh. Well. He supposes that if Lucy’s never going to love him, then at least she loves someone who is _his,_ in every sense of the word. 

It’s late. Louis yawns, knowing that sleep is starting to creep up to him. 

A few minutes later, when he feels his eyes beginning to fall shut, he hears Harry murmur, “We should also get an iguana.”

An iguana. Of _course_ Harry would be someone who would want a bloody iguana. And probably a million other animals, too. Louis tries to nod, because Harry should be able to get whatever animal his heart desires, and make a safe haven or something for all of them. He thinks he’s communicated his thoughts effectively, if Harry’s laugh is any indicator.

“Are you falling asleep?” he hears. 

“I’m not,” Louis says, but through his own ears, it sounds like a jumbled mess of consonants. Louis’ falling down, down, down, now — it’s comfortable where he is. 

“I love you,” comes a voice from above, floating above the midst of haziness. It sounds familiar. It sounds like something pleasant, like running water along a creek, or perhaps a meadow on a clear day. A part of his brain delivers one word — _Harry —_ and a brief recognition comes, _oh, it’s the man that I love._

Harry should know that he loves him. “I love you,” Louis answers, but from the way he hears an amused chuckle, Louis thinks that his words comes out as a slight snuffle. He registers the feeling of a kiss being brushed to his chin. In Louis’ half-conscious state, he’s aware of his own lips pulling up. 

Going to sleep with a smile on his face isn’t a bad way to fall asleep. He’s got his boy in his arms, two sets of twins to look forward to — and maybe an iguana, if Harry gets his way. Everything’s okay. 

After all, Louis is exactly right where he was always meant to be.

_the end_

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god. we made it to the damn end. thank you for sticking with me to this point!
> 
> i really hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i did creating this story. if you happened to enjoy this world as much as i did, i'd love it if you let me know in the comments :-) i will try my best to respond! and if you'd like to be notified on my future works, subscribe! (it’s the subscribe button on my ao3 page, not the subscribe button on this fic)
> 
> reblog the post [here](https://nauticalleeds.tumblr.com/post/186892514865/waiting-for-the-tides-to-meet-by) :-)
> 
> EDIT: author reveal time has come at last! thank you so much for the overwhelming response on this fic. i didn’t anticipate that people would enjoy it as much as they did, and i am so happy. thank you again :')
> 
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